


The Space Between Us

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek New Year's Extravaganza [28]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alien Derek Hale, Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Voltron, BAMF Stiles, Getting Together, Human Stiles Stilinski, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining Derek, Prince Derek, QUEEN LAURA, idiots in space, scene stealer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Dude! Don’topen!” Stiles yelled almost hysterically, facing the console and kicking a panel again. “They’re gonna fuckingkillme! They’re gonna think I killed this dude!” He motioned the figure lying dead on the floor.There was a clang behind him and Stiles jerked to his feet, scrambling backwards and hitting the console, eyes locked on the entrance.A tall, humanoid figure stepped through, aqua blue eyes rising and locking on Stiles before shifting to the dead alien on the floor.Stiles’ heart thundered in his chest and he was positive he was about to fuckingdie.(SNYE - January 28th - Scene Stealer)





	The Space Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis
> 
> A/N: I have no idea what this is, it’s what came out when I started typing.  
> I hope I even did this prompt correctly...

Stiles Stilinski knew that he was not meant for greatness. He was the son of a small town sheriff with ADHD, way too much energy, and absolutely no illusions of being popular or well-liked. He made decent grades, only because his arguments were good even if none of them usually pertained to the correct class, and he was probably the smartest person in the entire town. His lack of focus was usually his downfall, and his exuberant personality made it so that not many people wanted to speak to him, let alone be friends with him.

This didn’t really bother him, mostly because he figured once he graduated he’d leave town and never look back—except to visit his dad, of course. Overall though, he knew he’d get out, and while not slated for greatness, he hoped for a half-decent life, maybe a significant other, a puppy, the works.

Life didn’t always work out that way though, because even as Stiles went to bed on a cold October evening at eleven eighteen at night, knowing he was not meant for greatness, the universe had other plans for him.

He’d just turned off his light and was barely settled comfortably when he saw a flash of light pass by outside bright enough to illuminate his entire room. His eyes snapped open and he jerked up in bed, scrambling for his window and looking out.

Something huge and what looked to be on fire was falling through the sky at an astronomical rate. Stiles watched it fall, and when it disappeared into the trees, the boom that sounded shook the entire house.

Stiles stared, waiting for lights to turn on, people to wander outside asking, “Did you feel that? What _was_  that?”

Nothing happened. No lights turned on, and no one left their homes. Even his dad—usually a light sleeper because of his job—hadn’t stirred in his room. Normally he’d have rushed out and demanded to know what craziness Stiles was up to, but he heard nothing.

Wondering if he’d hallucinated the whole thing, Stiles debated for all of ten seconds before grabbing some shoes and his hoodie, snatching his keys and phone off his desk and then hurrying out of his room. He tripped on his way down the stairs, but managed to catch himself before he broke his neck, pulling the hoodie on over his head and stopping in the entrance to hop on one foot getting his shoes on. He locked the door on his way out and hurried to his Jeep, legs immediately cold since all he was wearing was a pair of thin flannel pyjama pants.

Climbing quickly into the Jeep, he started it with a wince, feeling like it was likely going to wake his dad, and then backed out of the driveway. Everything was dark and eerily silent on his way down the street, and he only passed two cars while he headed in the direction of the crash. It wasn’t unusual for the town to shut down after a certain time, but he knew Parrish was patrolling tonight and that brownnoser would’ve called the sheriff before the light had even fully faded from the sky.

It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t _like_  Parrish, it was just that every time Stiles was doing something he shouldn’t, Parrish tattled faster than a two year old.

When Stiles reached the edge of the preserve, he climbed out of the Jeep and slammed the door, listening hard. He couldn’t hear the crackle of fire, but he was positive whatever had fallen from the sky had done so in this direction, so he walked into the forest between the trees, pushing aside branches on his way.

He pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket and used the flashlight feature to look around and watch where he was going. It didn’t help much, since Stiles was generally an unstable person on his feet, but it helped him avoid falling down two cliffs and walking right into a small lake.

He squinted through the darkness, raising the flashlight when he thought he saw something up ahead. For some strange reason, it looked like it was shiny and blue, which made no sense but there it was. He walked slowly between the trees until he finally reached whatever the thing was. It was smoking, and Stiles could feel the heat radiating off it from this distance. He frowned, trying to use the flashlight to get a better look at what it was.

It didn’t seem like a UFO—well, not the conventional saucer-shaped kind, anyway—but it had to be alien. Something this big falling from the sky just _screamed_  alien.

He walked around it slowly, trying to get a better feel for what it looked like, and let out a shout and jerked away when there was a loud hiss and a ramp descended only a few feet to his left. He stared in slight awe when the light from inside the ship illuminated parts of the outside and he realized it was some kind of blue, cat-shaped vessel. Weird that it was cat-shaped, but Stiles wasn’t going to judge.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered to himself.

He quickly opened the camera function on his phone and snapped a few pictures, wanting to make sure when he woke up later that he could prove this had actually happened.

After a few amazing shots, Stiles stared at the open ramp, hesitating slightly. He didn’t know what he would find inside, and he also didn’t really feel like getting anal probed. That wasn’t a kink for him.

But this was a fucking _alien_  vessel! How many people outside the government could honestly say they’d seen one? Stiles would be crazy _not_  to explore, especially since the government was likely on its way right now.

Putting his phone back into his hoodie pocket, Stiles cautiously climbed over the slightly raised end of the ramp and started walking up into the ship. It was extremely bright inside by comparison, but the temperature was comfortable. It wasn’t boiling hot like it was just outside the vessel.

He walked up slowly into the main control area—cockpit, he supposed—and froze, breath freezing in his lungs.

He could see an arm. There was a chair facing away from Stiles with three large holographic screens laid out right in front of the chair and to either side.

The person—alien?—in the chair wasn’t moving and Stiles thought maybe he should back out slowly and run for his life.

But he could see something black dripping from the ends of the figure’s fingers, a small pool of it on the ground. It was kind of all over the place near the front from the movement of the vessel, but Stiles could tell the alien was injured.

“Oh, I am so going to regret this,” Stiles muttered, but he cautiously moved forward and inched around the chair. He forgot to breathe for a few seconds when he caught sight of what he found.

It was humanoid in shape, but extremely large and bulky, filling the entire seat it occupied. It was covered in large black scales, and Stiles was pretty sure it was injured.

Nope, he was _positive_  it was injured.

“That’s blood,” he blurted out stupidly. “I mean, I think it’s blood, it looks like some kind of blood-like substance, it’s probably blood, that’s totally, _definitely_  alien blood, that is a lot of blood, holy shit.”

He bit at his fist in an attempt to get himself to stop rambling, but it only just barely worked. He was staring at an alien covered in blood. It looked bad, and Stiles only knew it wasn’t dead because its chest was still rising and falling.

“Okay. Okay, no big deal,” he said to himself, moving a little closer. He pulled his hoodie off, hands a little shaky, and then inched an iota closer, pressing the hoodie to the large gaping wound in the alien’s chest. He was pretty sure it was a wound and not a weird body opening, because it was bleeding fairly heavily. He pressed a little harder, moving closer, and looked around for something that could be a kind of medical box or first aid kit. He was sure aliens, with all their advanced technology, had _first aid_  kits. It would be kind of ridiculous if they didn’t.

He was still looking around when he heard a weird high-pitched sound and turned back to the alien.

“Whoa, shit!” He backpedaled quickly, hands in the air and leaving his hoodie where it was, staring wide-eyed at the alien who was now conscious and aiming what was definitely some kind of weird weapon at him. It was circular in shape with a space at both the top and bottom, a handle in the middle connecting both sides together, and the space at the top glowing and aimed at him.

“Hey, I’m just—I was just trying to help.” He started to try and mime ‘help’ before realizing that there was no easy way to mime that.

The alien was breathing hard, its eyes full yellow and totally awesome. If, you know, Stiles weren’t about to fucking _die_. What had he been thinking? What, he’d just walk into the alien ship and help the wounded alien and they’d become besties?!

Actually, kind of. He’d been optimistic.

The alien reached up to grab the sweater, pulling it away and wincing, as if the movement hurt, and staring down at it. It looked back at Stiles, then the sweater.

“I was trying to help.” Stiles mimed blood exploding out of his chest, then balling something up in his hands and pressing it against himself. “You know, help? Is there a translator in here? What kind of advanced alien ship is this?” He glanced around briefly, the alien still staring, and very slowly, the weapon was lowered.

The alien still didn’t look like it trusted Stiles, but it didn’t need to trust him, it just had to let him help. He pointed at the sweater, then cautiously took a step forward. The alien watched him grab at it slowly, and then Stiles pressed it against its chest again. It grunted, eyes flashing brighter for a moment, but it didn’t attack or aim its weapon again.

“You’re in bad shape, dude,” Stiles muttered, pressing harder and looking around. “Do you have, like, a bandage? Or, I don’t know, gauze or something?” Stiles raised one hand to motion covering something and the alien scowled. Well, it looked like a scowl. Stiles wondered if this race didn’t speak, because he hadn’t even attempted communication yet.

The alien lifted its good arm and stared down at something attached to it. Stiles wasn’t sure what it was, some kind of gauntlet, but it looked to be off. It was likely damaged, from the looks of things. The alien grumbled, probably in displeasure, and lowered its arm once more.

Stiles was still trying to figure out what to do when loud, rapid beeping sounded and the alien’s eyes shifted to the screens behind Stiles. Red warning lights began to flash and Stiles whipped around.

There was another ship coming, this one _actually_  shaped like a ship instead of a giant cat. It was still pretty far away based on the readings he could make out on the screen.

“I doubt they’re friendlies,” Stiles muttered, turning back to the alien. “We gotta get you out of here. Come on.” He started to reach for the alien’s arm to help it to its feet but it just grabbed Stiles’ arm in a vice-like grip, yellow eyes locked on his brown ones.

“Voltron,” it said.

“If that means retreat, yes, I agree, let’s go.” He tried to pull free so he could help the other stand, but it didn’t let go and instead pushed the circular weapon against Stiles’ chest in such a way that suggested he wanted him to take it.

“ _Voltron_ ,” it said again, more insistently. Its eyes shifted to the screen behind Stiles briefly, then looked back at him. It said something else in a series of weird clicks and throat sounds Stiles couldn’t replicate if his life depended on it.

It occurred to Stiles that “Voltron” wasn’t something in this alien’s mother tongue. He wondered if that was who was coming.

Before he could say anything else, the grip on his arm went slack, the yellow eyes dimmed and the alien slumped in its seat. Stiles’ mouth dropped open.

“No. No, no, no! Come on! Come on, buddy!” He slapped lightly at the thing’s cheek, ignoring the sting of the scales against his palm, but he was pretty sure it was dead.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

The red warning lights were flashing more insistently now, and when he turned to look at the screen, he saw the range had shortened considerably. The other ship was almost right on top of them. He had to get out of there.

When he turned back to the alien, he let out a sad sigh and touched its shoulder lightly. “Sorry buddy.”

He started to move out from around the chair when there was a loud hissing sound and the ramp he’d come up closed with a thunk. Stiles froze, staring at it wide-eyed. He turned back to the alien, but it was still super, super dead. He faced the ramp again, feeling a little uneasy.

“What the fuck?” he asked no one. He started to take a step forward, then let out a shout when the ship moved beneath him and he almost lost his footing, grabbing at the back of the chair to stay on his feet. He dropped the weapon he’d been holding and almost freaked, thinking it was going to discharge, but it hit the ground harmlessly and lay there.

“What is going on?” Stiles demanded when he felt the vessel turn and then loud, booming steps. Was it–was it _running_?! Was the ship fucking running?! This was insane!

He let out a shout when the ship did what felt like a jump into the air. He lost his footing, mostly because when it landed his entire body jerked upwards. He was still gripping the chair, so he managed not to kill himself, feet hitting the ceiling, but the alien in the chair just crashed lifelessly into the top of the cockpit before hitting the ground.

“Oh Jesus! Oh shit!” Stiles held on to the chairback for dear life, and then screamed when the vessel flew sideways, a loud explosion sounding on his right and the screen on that side lighting up. Shit, the other ship was fucking _shooting_  at him!

The screens were still beeping insistently and blinking red, but now there was what looked like a large “warning” sign flashing on all three screens.

Stiles’ heart was somewhere in his throat.

If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to die. He was going to either get blown to smithereens, or he was going to get crushed at some point by sailing across the inside of the small control room.

His eyes found the dead alien on the floor and he winced. “Sorry, dude.”

Grabbing the weapon that had slid away from him off the ground just for security purposes, he managed to move around the chair to the front of it, falling heavily down into it and wedging the weapon between his thigh and the seat. He let out a startled shout when the seat advanced on its own, straps coming down across his shoulders and around his torso, and controls lighting up on either side of his seat.

“Okay, okay, you can do this.” Stiles’ eyes shot from button to button, hands hovering over the controls. He shouted when another explosion rocked the vessel in the opposite direction as the previous shot.

“Fuck it!” He slammed his hand down on a random button and instantly shot into the air. Cursing, he grabbed at the levers on either side of him and managed to get the vessel to respond somewhat. He was mostly focussed on getting away from the other ship, but his eyes kept scanning all the buttons. None of them had words, only pictures, like this vessel was universal. Maybe this was Voltron. Maybe this was what the alien had been trying to tell him.

Something was important about this cat-ship, and his new alien friend had died trying to protect it, so the least Stiles could do was keep it safe.

He was flying higher into the air, above the treeline now, and jerked the right lever forward. The vessel shot in that direction, and Stiles let out a loud, startled laugh. Then he screamed when he almost careened into another enemy ship, but he yanked the left lever to the side and did a barrel roll under the other ship, straightening once he’d passed it.

He could see the other ship still on his ass, the front part of it just barely on the edge of his right screen.

“Get off my ass, buddy,” Stiles snapped, looking at all the buttons quickly. One of them looked like flares so he hit that and jumped when he heard explosions behind him. The ship on his ass disappeared from the screen. “Okay, that worked. Cool.”

There was still one ship left and he used the controls to turn the vessel around. It was also following, but further back than the other had been. Stiles found what looked like a gun and slammed his hand down on it. A beam of blue light shot from somewhere behind him and the other craft exploded.

“Yeah! Did you see that?!” Stiles turned to grin at the alien on the floor. “Oh. Right.” He was still dead. Apparently rising from the ashes or whatever wasn’t part of his alien abilities. “Okay. Cool. How do I land this thing?”

He’d honestly taken his eyes off the screens for a second and suddenly an explosion hit on his left. He jerked in his seat, the straps digging into him painfully to keep him in place, and he jerked the controls, whipping the ship around to see what was going on.

More of the enemy ships had appeared. At least three that he could see, but there might’ve been more. They _really_  wanted this cat-ship. Stiles had to admit, it was pretty awesome, but he wasn’t going to let them have it. He jerked his hands on the levers, the vessel making weird moves that perfectly mimicked what he was intending. He got beneath one of the enemy ships and flipped around, then hit another button that had a blast emanate from where he felt the cat’s mouth was. The ship iced over instantly and fell out of the sky.

It was harder fighting the other two on his own, and more often than not, the lasers firing from his vessel were missing and scorching the forest below. Stiles felt guilty about it, but to be fair, _they were trying to kill him_. He just wanted to keep things out of town, and after another barrel roll and a slice at the other ship with some kind of blade near the front of the vessel, all of the enemies he could see had been disposed of.

He grinned and dusted off his shoulder like a dick. “Just like playing a video game.” He looked down again. “So, again, _how_  do I land this thing?”

Stiles was inspecting the various buttons when the vessel turned around on its own and his head shot up to the screen. It twisted and aimed up at the sky, then Stiles slammed back into his seat when it began ascending rapidly towards the heavens.

“What? No, stop!” Stiles began pushing random buttons and trying to manoeuvre the ship back around towards the ground, but it just kept climbing and climbing in altitude. “What is happening?! How are you suddenly on auto-pilot?!” He began yanking the right lever back and forth repeatedly. “Stop! Halt! Cease and desist!”

By the time he looked up at the screens again, his heart sank. He was in space. He was actually, _literally_  in space. The vessel had auto-piloted him right out into the fucking vacuum of the universe.

“Oh, I am so gonna be late for school tomorrow,” he whispered to himself.

The vessel was just leisurely floating away from Earth, and no matter what controls Stiles played with, it didn’t respond. He was ready to check for a space suit so he could get the fuck out of there when something flashed in front of him. His eyes widened when a small patch of space turned white and shimmery. The vessel slowly glided towards it and Stiles redoubled his efforts to get the ship turned around.

When it became clear it was hopeless, he covered his face with his arms, clenched his eyes shut, and turned his head to the side. He was hoping for the best, but didn’t know that he’d survive going through whatever this was.

Light flashed behind his closed eyelids and he waited a few seconds before peeking one eye open.

The vessel was floating towards a large ship shaped like a giant floating castle. Were he not scared out of his mind, he probably would’ve been impressed. A hatch opened on one side and the cat-ship slowly slid right through it. The door shut behind them and they glided forward for a few seconds before hitting the ground with a soft thud, the ship beginning to walk slowly until they were in a large hangar.

Stiles looked around wildly, mega impressed and remarkably terrified. There were four other cat-shaped vessels in the hangar, but they were all different colours: red, yellow, green and black. While they were all the same, they _looked_  slightly different, like they had different functions.

The ship he was in stopped abruptly and Stiles jerked in his seat, a loud ‘bang’ echoing through the hangar.

He could only assume, based on the other four, that the vessel had just taken a seat.

“No,” Stiles insisted when the ship began powering down. “No, no, no, come on. I gotta get out of here!”

Everything slowly started turning off except for the screens and the lights dimmed in the cockpit. Stiles kicked at whatever part of the panel he could reach and sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. He took a second to breathe, just breathe, and then reached up to tug at the seatbelt/harness thing keeping him in place. It unhooked easily and slid back into place, Stiles rubbing the back of his neck.

He turned to look at the alien on the floor, and was surprised to find it hadn’t moved. Upon closer inspection, he found straps tying it to the floor and realized the ship must’ve only let him fly out of the seat in an attempt to get Stiles _into_  it.

His sweatshirt was trapped under the alien’s massive form, and when Stiles started to bend down to reach for it, despite it being covered in blood, he heard sounds from the hangar. Aborting his attempt to reclaim his sweatshirt, his eyes returned to the screen and he found a group of people racing towards his ship.

Oh no.

Oh _no_!

“I gotta get outta here,” Stiles whispered, desperately poking and prodding at random things in an attempt to start the machine up again and make a break for it.

It hadn’t moved an inch by the time the figures appeared in front of the ship. The one in front was screaming something over and over. Stiles assumed it was the dead alien’s name.

The aliens in the hangar all looked remarkably human save for certain features. Hell, one of them looked like they might actually _be_  human.

The one in the front moved a step closer, shouting something, and Stiles felt his blood run cold when he heard a familiar hissing sound. He whipped around in his seat, seeing the ramp descending and the figure at the front in the hangar moved forward, grabbing a kind of rope that seemed to be attached to a pulley and rising to the opening.

“Dude! Don’t _open_!” Stiles yelled almost hysterically, facing the console and kicking a panel again. “They’re gonna fucking _kill_  me! They’re gonna think I killed this dude!” He motioned the figure lying dead on the floor.

There was a clang behind him and Stiles jerked to his feet, scrambling backwards and hitting the console, eyes locked on the entrance.

A tall, humanoid figure stepped through, aqua blue eyes rising and locking on Stiles before shifting to the dead alien on the floor.

Stiles’ heart thundered in his chest and he was positive he was about to fucking _die_.

The eyes snapped back up to him and the alien snarled, exposing long, pointed teeth. It stalked forward angrily, barking something in a language Stiles didn’t understand and pulling the same weapon from its hip as the other alien. This new one’s was circular for only a second before turning into a sword, Stiles’ heart stopping in his chest.

The alien pointed the sword in Stiles’ direction and barked something at him. Probably a question, based on the tone, but Stiles just stared back helplessly.

“Dude, I don’t understand, but I swear I didn’t kill this dude.” Stiles motioned the dead alien, face a mask of terror. “I swear, he was hurt, I tried to save him!”

The alien barked something else, taking a few threatening steps forward, sword swinging back as if to attack Stiles when a screen popped up between the alien and the chair.

It was holographic, so Stiles as well as the alien could see it. It showed Stiles boarding the ship and trying to help the alien, from the moment he stepped on board to the moment the ship forced him into the chair. Then it disappeared.

“See? See?!” Stiles motioned the ground where the screen had been hovering. “I tried to help and your ship kidnapped me! I’ve been shipnapped! Or abducted! Oh God, I’ve been _abducted_!”

Stiles slapped both hands against his ass and the alien in front of him rolled its eyes, despite still looking royally pissed. Apparently the alien probing was a common thing for extraterrestrials and based on the reaction, untrue.

A new voice sounded, and the alien in front of him whipped around, barking something angrily. Another figure entered the cockpit, waving an annoyed hand in the first alien’s face. Stiles didn’t know if aliens had the same genders as humans, but he felt inclined to believe the dead one was male, the first angry-looking one was male, and this new one was female. She was tall and gorgeous, eyes shining red and hair pulled back into an intricate looking hairstyle, part of it up and the other part down. She was also wearing a long, flowing dress—hence female—and what looked like a tiara.

She and the angry dude argued for a few seconds before she put her hand on his chest and pushed him aside, moving forward until she was standing right on the other side of the chair, opposite Stiles. The angry dude scowled at her back, but the sword disappeared and he returned the circular weapon to wherever he’d grabbed it from somewhere on his back.

She pulled up the sleeve of her dress and looked down at something on her arm. Stiles had to crane his neck to see it and realized it was some kind of electronic gauntlet, similar to what the dead alien had had. She tapped a few things on it, then aimed it at Stiles, who flailed and tried to duck, but nothing happened. He was just crouched on the floor like an idiot with his hands covering his head for a good minute before peeking up at her and seeing her smiling, amused, gauntlet still aimed at him.

She said something in the same weird language as the angry dude—but not the same as the dead guy—and Stiles sighed.

“I don’t understand you,” he insisted, letting his hands drop but remaining crouched. “Do you not have translators with all this advanced technology of yours?”

Her gauntlet beeped and she lowered her arm, staring down at it and hitting a few buttons.

The next time she spoke, Stiles straightened from his crouched position, the words escaping her coming out in English.

“Earthling, resident of planet Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy. Language detected, English.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I apologize for startling you, I was merely attempting to determine what language you were speaking.”

“Sure,” Stiles said, mouth dry and heart slamming against his ribs. Her eyes kept changing colour, sometimes bright red, other times soft green. He also noticed the guy behind her changing _more_  into an animal. Before his face had been relatively human save the eyes and teeth. Now, his forehead was more pronounced, nose flattening and chops appearing down the side of his face. He growled low in his throat and Stiles swallowed hard.

“Forgive my brother,” the woman said, waving a dismissive hand behind herself. “He is protective.” Her eyes found the dead alien and looked sad. She glanced back at Stiles and tried for a smile. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Stiles was a good rambler. He rambled quite frequently at school, and at home, and when out, and always. Always, really. So when he was asked to explain what happened, he went all for it, no hesitation, and just blurted out everything that happened along with every single thought in his head at each moment.

He told them how the cat-thing had crashed but somehow no one else seemed to have seen or heard it. He told them about trying to save the dead alien, how his weapon—which he grabbed from the seat, held up, and then tossed back down—had been shoved at him along with a mysterious word, “Voltron.”

He told them about the other ships attacking, how the cat-vessel had moved on its own until he’d gotten into the seat and controlled it. He told them how once he’d finished it took him into space and through a wormhole and now here he was.

The alien in the back didn’t look convinced, face still morphed into something animalistic, but the woman in front of him just smiled sadly. She turned to look at the fallen alien, then at the one behind her.

“Take him. We will head to his planet tomorrow and make sure he gets home to his family.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with _that_.” The other alien sneered, giving Stiles a disgusted once-over.

“Do I look like a threat to you?” Stiles demanded, motioning himself. “I’m like, a hundred and fifty pounds of nothing. Your sister looks like she could bench-press a horse!” He motioned her.

The woman gave her brother a look and he growled again under his breath, but uncrossed his impressively muscled arms and bent down to grab at the dead alien. Stiles could tell by how carefully he did so that he had meant something to the angry guy, but he said nothing and just managed to pull him over one shoulder, walking out of the ship.

Stiles hadn’t noticed when the straps had disappeared to free it, but he’d been rambling for a while, so he supposed it was possible they’d disengaged while he wasn’t looking. His hoodie was still on the ground, covered in black ooze, and he sighed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“You must be tired,” the woman said, motioning out of the ship. “Come, let’s get you to a room so you can rest.”

“Honestly, I’d rather just go home, so is there like—a shuttle or an intergalactic bus or anything I can just take back to my own planet?”

The other winced slightly and shook her head. “I apologize, but I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to leave.”

Stiles’ heart sank to his feet, and it must’ve shown on his face because the woman looked horrified for a second and held up one hand.

“Please don’t misunderstand. You’re not a prisoner and we’re not going to hurt you—” Stiles wasn’t sure about her brother, but said nothing, “—but there is a lot more at stake at this time. I’d like to explain it to you, but I believe you should get some rest beforehand.”

Stiles honestly wasn’t sure he’d get _any_  sleep tonight, but he nodded agreement and started to follow her out of the ship but she just stared at him for a moment and pointed at his seat.

“Your Bayard.”

“My what?” he looked down and saw the weapon the other dude had given him. Picking it up, he held it in one hand and she smiled before leading the way out.

Stiles followed her out of the ship. When they exited, only one of the previous party members was waiting for them. He looked completely human, despite Stiles remembering his features being different before. He assumed these people could shape-shift, which was cool, but terrifying.

“Can you bring the Earthling...” The woman trailed off.

“Stiles,” he offered.

She smiled at him, pleased with being trusted with his name. “Stiles to a room? We’ll get some rest and speak in the morning. It will allow all involved to calm down and grieve.”

The other man’s face went sad but he nodded and inclined his head when the woman walked past him, like a small bow almost. When she was gone, he turned back to Stiles and smiled brightly. There was a bit of sadness at the edges, probably because of the fallen comrade, but otherwise he seemed genuine.

“Earthling, huh? We’ve never met Earthlings before. Our enemies usually don’t make it out that far since your race is primitive and easy to enslave.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Perfect. Thanks. Good to know. We’re so lame we’re not even worth being invaded.”

The other laughed and eyed him for a few seconds. “So, Stiles from Earth, do you have any shape-shifting abilities?”

“No. I uh, think that’s reserved for higher beings, like you.”

“Actually, the highest of beings can’t shapeshift.” He motioned the green cat-ship. “The green Paladin is the most intellectual individual on this ship and she can’t shape-shift.”

That must’ve been the human-looking girl from before. Then again, he felt like most of them just looked human, at this point. Except the dead alien, anyway. But this guy looked completely normal, with dark skin, curly black hair and brown puppy-dog eyes.

“Can-can _you_  shapeshift?” he asked uncertainly.

The other grinned and nodded and Stiles jerked back when the other’s face contorted, forehead pronounced, nose flat, fangs in his mouth, hair along his jaw and even his hands looked like claws had appeared.

“That is both amazing and terrifying,” Stiles informed him.

The other laughed, eyes a bright golden colour, but he slowly morphed back into his more human form and Stiles was grateful. “You’re kind of fun for an Earthling. I’m—”

Stiles took another startled step back at the ungodly sound that escaped his mouth. He gave him a look and the alien in front of him frowned before raising his left arm. He had the same gauntlet the dead alien and woman before had and he tapped on it once before frowning.

“According to Earth’s English language, the closest equivalent of my name for you would be ‘Scott’.”

“Scott!” Stiles exclaimed, pleased as pie and horrendously relieved. “Perfect! Yes! Scott’s a _great_  name, let’s go with that!”

The alien laughed and tapped a few things on his gauntlet. Based on how he and the woman used it, he felt like it was linking English and their own language together, trying to find equivalents. So when Stiles said “Scott,” the gauntlet’s translator would have him saying that inhuman sound that had escaped the other’s mouth.

It was cool. Technology was cool. Too bad humans were too stupid to create shit like this.

Scott said something else in a weird language, and hit a button, and then said, “Laura.”

“Laura?”

The alien looked up at him and smiled. “I’m configuring all of our names and planets into Earthland speak for you. It will save time later, especially if we are under attack.”

“Attack. Great. Guessing that’s the bad guys who were shooting at me?”

Scott nodded, said something, then tapped his gauntlet and said, “The Alphs. They are the reason we are all here together, but Laura wanted to explain this to you tomorrow. For now, we should get you to bed.”

“Man I sure hope ‘bed’ means the same thing to both of us,” Stiles said, and Scott laughed.

They didn’t speak while Scott led him through the hangar and out a door. He just kept talking to his gauntlet, tapping buttons, and having other names come out. Stiles was relieved that they were all normal and easily pronounceable names. Derek, Laura, Lydia, Jackson, Scott, Deaton. He also said other things that didn’t mean much to him, like Bansh, and Kanim, and Lycandor, but Stiles assumed those were just planet names or something.

Scott led him through the ship completely oblivious to the fact that Stiles was going to break his neck with how fast he kept swivelling it around. The place was fucking gorgeous, and so technologically advanced. He would love even just five minutes in the bridge of this fucking place, but he doubted that would happen. He was just some human garbage one of their ships had brought home as a toy, with his luck.

“You can stay in this room.” Scott stopped in front of a door and it hissed open, sliding upwards. “It’s across from Derek, but he won’t bother you. He likes to keep to himself.”

“Who’s Derek?”

“Laura’s brother.”

“Laura being the girl from before?” Stiles asked. “With the grumpy dude hovering protectively.”

“Yup.” Scott smiled and waved. “The door won’t open without your permission once you’re inside, so get some sleep and we’ll all talk in the morning.”

“Sure.”

Stiles watched him walk away, then poked his head into the room. It looked pretty normal, with an in-built bed in the wall, complete with pillow, sheets and a blanket. There was a desk on one side, also protruding from the wall, and what looked like in-built drawers across the room. There was another door that Stiles had to step into the room to investigate—and _didn’t_  freak out when the first door closed behind him, of _course_  not—and it opened into what was probably a bathroom. It had a basin, what was clearly a toilet, and a holographic looking frosted wall. When he stuck his arm through it, nothing happened so he put his head through next and, sure enough, shower.

“I guess even aliens need to piss and shower,” he decided, walking back into the room, the bathroom door hissing shut behind him.

He stared around the place, exhausted and scared, but he knew there was nothing more for him to do today. Rubbing at his face, he kicked off his shoes and crawled into the bed, setting the weapon thing down beside himself. At least he was in his pyjamas still, so he’d sleep comfortably, but he was definitely going to need some new clothes in the morning.

“They better not put me in a dress,” he muttered to himself, rolling over so he was facing the door and closing his eyes for sleep.

He honestly didn’t think he _would_  fall asleep, but within a minute, his brain shut down and he passed out.

* * *

“This is stupid, it’s a bad idea, what are you _thinking_?!” Derek demanded furiously, pacing in front of his sister who was sitting unconcerned in her designated seat on the bridge. The space outside the large screens covering the entirety of the walls in the room was quiet and devoid of enemies, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the Alphs showed up, and once they did, they would be _screwed_!

“We need him,” Laura insisted with a scowl. “We cannot form Voltron without a fifth Paladin, and in case it’s escaped your notice, Boyd is—” Her voice caught in her throat and she let out a small, angry exhale. Derek scowled. “We need him,” she repeated.

“He doesn’t know _anything_  about the war! Earth has been left out of the conflict, and they are so primitive even the Alphs don’t bother with them. Hell, _I_  could go to their planet and conquer it by myself, based on what I’ve read about it. It’s ridiculous for us to think that _thing_  can be a Paladin of Voltron!”

“The blue lion chose him,” Laura reminded him.

“Maybe it was desperate!” Derek roared. “We should drop him back off on his primitive planet and find a new Paladin! There are thousands of others out there familiar with the war, smart, competent, _trained_. Why do you want to risk our lives, the lives of _everyone_  in the universe, by accepting _him_?”

“The lions don’t make mistakes, Derek,” she reminded him coldly. “Or have you forgotten why _you_  are here.”

Derek kept his mouth shut, but that was a low blow, and it looked like even Laura knew it. He knew it was his fault their planet had been destroyed, their family murdered, and Voltron scattered across the universe. It had taken them almost four years to locate the lions again, and the only reason they had was because others fighting back against the Alphs had managed to power them up and fight with them.

The hardest to locate had been the black lion, and the only reason it had been found was because Derek had been expelled into space during a battle, and would have died after being stuck out there for six hours, dangerously low on oxygen, if the black lion hadn’t appeared out of nowhere to save him.

The lion chose the Paladin, not the other way around. And as much as he hated Laura for being right, if the blue lion had chosen the Earthling, they had no choice but to trust its decision.

“This is a mistake,” he insisted simply, and then left the room. He stormed past the royal advisor, who looked amused at the fight he’d witnessed, and just headed for the hangar.

A lot had changed in the past eight years, and not all of them for the better, but he hated when Laura got angry enough to remind them of why they were all here. He _knew_  why they were there, it was his fault, and he had to live with the weight of that every day of his fucking life.

Derek punched at one of the walls while passing it, then continued on his way, ignoring the ship repairing the damage he’d done to the panel.

When Derek had been sixteen, he had met a woman. She was strong, and beautiful, and liked him. _Him_. He was the second child of the powerful Lycandor Empire, who spread peace and tolerance across the universe, and protected those who couldn’t protect themselves with the most powerful weapon in existence: Voltron.

The Lycans were all well-liked, but all anyone ever spoke of was the powerful and brave Laura Hale, Crown Princess of Lycandor. No one paid any mind to her younger brother Derek, or child sister Cora. Everything was about Laura.

So when this woman had shown an interest in him, and said he was twice as powerful as Laura and would be a formidable force one day, he’d fallen for her hard. His parents hadn’t been pleased, because she was from a hostile planet rife with war and corruption, but they’d grudgingly accepted the relationship.

He’d allowed her into his home, into his life, onto the most sacred grounds of their planet. And there, she’d shown her true colours, and poisoned the energy source that kept their planet alive. He hadn’t known what she was doing at the time, but had he been faster, he might’ve been able to stop her.

The energy source was linked to the royal family, and the moment she poisoned it, Derek felt himself unable to breathe, his insides on fire, his lifeforce fading. The only reason he hadn’t died was because his mother’s advisor, Deaton, hadn’t trusted the woman and had followed them. He’d killed the woman, and had forcibly severed the link between the energy source and the royal family.

Deaton had been unaffected, as he was not a member of the royal family. Only Derek’s immediate family had been affected, and while the link had been severed, it still didn’t save them.

Deaton had helped him to his feet and had moved quickly back towards the palace, but before they’d made it, the attack started. The palace was the first thing to be destroyed, Derek’s entire body in agony at the realization that his family had just _died_. Everyone had just died, and even as he struggled and screamed to get to the burning ruins of his home, Deaton had lifted him off the ground and run in the opposite direction.

The attack had been coordinated, quick, and merciless. The entire planet had been attacked at once, all members of the guard decimated, any people of power killed quickly, and the rest of the populace picked off like they meant nothing.

Deaton and Derek only survived when an off-duty royal guard who’d been nearby appeared in his own vessel. His wife was a miner on a nearby moon, and the ship was fit for space travel. He landed in an open area and ushered them forward quickly. When attackers appeared behind them, firing at the one remaining member of the royal family, the guard had rushed out to protect them and lost his life.

Derek had never felt so guilty as he had the moment he climbed on board to find the man’s wife sobbing at the controls while lifting them off the ground, and the six-year old son wailing in the back of the ship.

And Derek got to live with that guilt every day of his life, because the six-year old son had grown up to become the yellow Paladin, and every time Derek looked at Scott, it just reminded him of what he’d stolen from him. His father, his planet, his _life_.

The journey off the dying planet had been treacherous, and Derek honestly didn’t think they’d have made it without the combined efforts of Scott’s mother Melissa, and Deaton. They’d left behind the planet, burning and breaking apart, and had travelled as far as they could. The ship was small enough it escaped most enemy radars, but after almost two days in space, they were finally spotted by an Alph scout ship.

The vessel they were in didn’t have any weapons, so they’d all braced for the inevitable when a castle-ship had appeared through a Teleduv portal and blasted the Alph to smithereens. When they’d boarded the ship, it had been littered with bodies and in disarray from a violent attack.

The lone survivor was sitting on the floor in the middle of the bridge at the Teleduv controls. Derek had never seen Laura look so broken, but she’d sobbed in relief at the sight of Derek and had hugged him so hard it had actually broken a rib. The attacks had taken place at the same time between the planet and her fleet. She and her crew had fought valiantly, but eventually had become overwhelmed. When her ship was the only one standing, she’d had no choice but to retreat by use of Teleduv. Some of the smaller Alph ships had followed them through the portal, and while some had been destroyed, others had managed to board the castle.

Laura had lost her entire crew during the battle, only surviving when her fiancé had shoved her through a door, and then opened the air lock to expel everyone from the main area where the fighting was being held. She had been the only one to survive the battle.

Deaton had informed her of the planet’s destruction, but he didn’t mention it was Derek’s doing. Derek felt guilty enough to tell her himself and they hadn’t spoken for an entire year, the five Lycans living alone on the ship, the last survivors of a now decimated planet.

It wasn’t until the second year that they heard rumours of Voltron’s lions having survived the planet’s destruction. During a review of the Alph’s broadcast of the planet’s destruction on the two-year anniversary, boasting and laughing about how weak and pathetic the Lycans had been, they all watched the screen, despite the agony coursing through them at the sight of it, and distinctly saw five different streaks of light on the screen. The lions were fast, and had barely registered on the recorded event, but the five brief expulsions of light from the planet were definitely the five lions of Voltron.

And they’d spent the next four years searching for them. The green lion had been found on the allied planet of Bansh, where Lydia had discovered it while escaping her home, which was being pillaged by Alphs for the minerals that encompassed the majority of the planet and provided a powerful source of energy for Alph weapons. She had stumbled upon it and had been let in by the lion.

She’d protected her planet for almost six months on her own before Derek and Laura came to collect her.

The second lion had been the red lion, located on a dismal and hateful planet called Kanim. It was in alliance with Alph, but only because it had no choice. Jackson had located the red lion while on patrol one day, a forced enlistment to the Alphan army, and he’d promptly used it to destroy the base on his planet and flee.

Tracking him down had taken some work, but when they heard of a lightning fast ship nobody lived to talk about that was destroying Alph ships and disrupting their trade routes, they realized it was the red lion and had sought it out.

Jackson had refused to join them— _or_  return the lion—for two weeks until Lydia finally joined Laura on one of the outings and he joined before Laura’d even opened her mouth. Apparently Jackson was easy to manipulate if a beautiful girl was put in front of him.

The yellow lion had been found by accident. They had been using the red and green lion to free an Alph-controlled planet of peace and Scott had been quite literally blasted through a cave wall. The yellow lion had been in a large underground cave on the other side, and it had opened the moment Scott landed in front of it.

And so they had three.

It took them a lot longer to find the blue lion, mostly because its owner, Boyd, was too scared to use it. His planet had so far escaped the cruelty of the Alphs, and while he knew it wasn’t right, he ignored that the lion had chosen him and kept it hidden in an attempt to spare his planet any problems.

That hadn’t lasted, and eventually the Alphs arrived to enslave the planet, forcing Boyd to expose his possession of the blue lion. Derek and Laura had shown up not long afterwards, and he was the fourth to join them.

As the battles grew more dangerous, and the castle was attacked more frequently for possession of the four lions, Scott requested safety for his mother and she was left with Lydia’s family on Bansh in an attempt to keep loved ones of those remaining safe. Deaton had refused to abandon what was left of the royal family, and thus stayed behind on the ship with the Paladins and the new Queen of Lycandor.

The black lion had eluded them for almost an entire year. Nobody had seen or heard anything about it, and while news of the lions was spreading and bringing hope to all, they knew it was pointless without the pivotal piece of Voltron. Without all five lions, Voltron could not form, and if it couldn’t form, they would never beat the Alphs. It was a lost war, and while they did their best pushing back with the four lions they had, it wasn’t enough.

And then one day, while infiltrating a Alph battle cruiser to locate their highly anticipated new weapon, Derek had been found out and had been launched out into open space lightyears away from the castle and with no way for Laura to find him.

He had been prepared to die. At twenty-two, he’d already done more damage than anything else in his life, and he didn’t want to live with the guilt anymore. He was ready to let his oxygen run out and die in the cold vacuum of space, when something appeared in the distance, moving slowly through space.

The black lion had stopped in front of him, but it hadn’t opened for him until Derek had been moments from death and promised he would right the wrong he had made. Until he’d promised he would live to see the universe freed from the Alph.

Only then did it open for him and he was saved from death.

The lion seemed to know where the ship was, and Derek had to wonder if it had been wandering the universe in search of a suitable pilot before returning to join its siblings. Apparently Derek was it.

Laura had been sobbing with relief, but Derek had never truly determined if it was at the sight of the black lion, or the sight of Derek emerging from it, alive and well. He chose to believe it was the lion she was happy to see, because it was hard being around her sometimes knowing he was the reason she’d lost everything.

Deaton was likely just as angry, but he hid it better and never treated Derek badly for what he’d done. He just tried to be a good father figure to the two young royals and gave surprisingly good advice to Laura on how to help strengthen alliances.

Derek could see why his mother had respected him so much.

Still, he knew it had to be hard for Deaton, but especially Laura, who had grown up groomed to be Queen. She barely acted like a Queen anymore and, to be fair, Derek could understand. There wasn’t really much point in ruling over only four people. Even when they defeated the Alphs, it wasn’t like the Lycandor Empire would ever be what it was before. Their entire civilization was lost, their planet destroyed, their power source gone. They were no different from any other alien in the universe, with no home, and nothing left to do but fight for freedom.

Once the fight concluded, Derek didn’t know what they would do. He thought Laura and Scott might retire to Bansh. Scott was enamoured with another Banshee named Allison, and given his mother had made Bansh her home, it was likely he would end up there. Laura herself loved Lydia’s family and had gotten close with the royal family of Bansh, and if she had to choose one place to live, he felt like it would be there.

Jackson would presumably follow. He loved Lydia, and they had begun a weird sort of courting the past year that suggested they may end up being together by the end of the war provided nobody died.

Boyd had been planning on returning home, and now he was doing so in a casket, and Derek hated that. He hated that they would be arriving in Rockdon tomorrow to deliver his corpse to his family. He’d had a fiancé when they’d taken him. He’d been planning on having a family. And now he wouldn’t, all because of the stupid war.

All because of Derek.

Derek himself didn’t know where he’d go. Somewhere isolated where he could be alone to die for his crimes. He knew Deaton would follow him, the asshole was fond of him for some reason, but he hoped he could escape him without having to knock him out. Deaton deserved happiness, too, and Derek hoped he’d go with Laura to Bansh.

Derek was still scowling, thinking about the past two years of _won_ battles and really _making a difference_ by the time he reached the hangar. He sighed in anger, feeling his fangs itching at his gums and his eyes burning while he looked at the blue lion.

All that hard work. All those advancements. And for what? Nothing.

They’d been planning their final assault on Alph in two months. Hundreds of planets had joined the Voltron coalition, and they actually had a _chance_. They could actually _win_!

But now Boyd was dead, and they were stuck with a newbie. And not even _any_  newbie, but a fucking Earthling! From a planet so primitive they’d barely made it to their own moon. A planet who still couldn’t send their people as far as _Mars_ , which wasn’t that far from them.

A planet full of moronic, weak, uncivilized animals who fought one another for more land and resources, for different ideals and beliefs. Their _own_  people! It was different with other planets like Kanim, where fighting was just something they _did_ , it was a war planet, they bred fighters. But Earth just fought amongst their own people because they _could_  and that was disgusting. Derek didn’t want filth on his team, let alone useless filth.

He walked through the hangar until he was in front of the blue lion, scowling at it and crossing his arms. It was powered down, but that didn’t mean much with the lions. He knew it could hear him.

“Why did you choose _him_?” he asked, scowling more. “You could’ve gone to Saturn and chosen someone more worthy. But instead you chose an Earthling. He’s going to be our downfall. So _why_?”

The lion didn’t respond, but Derek just stayed put, glaring for a long while, and then used the pulley system to climb up into it. It was still open from earlier, so he walked into the cockpit and looked around.

Someone had cleared it up and discarded of the item of clothing that had been on the ground. He suspected it had been Scott. He’d liked Boyd well enough, but they’d never been close. Lydia had locked herself in her room and Jackson was furious at having lost an ally—but Derek could tell he was also hurting. It seemed likely Scott would be the only one with enough strength to clean up.

Derek knew Deaton certainly wouldn’t have done it. He’d never liked Boyd, so his death meant very little to him, but he also wasn’t the cleaning type.

His chest felt tight at the thought of Boyd. He’d liked him, a lot, and even if he’d found him selfish at first for hiding the blue lion until it was necessary for him to expose his ownership of it, he understood why he’d done it.

How could some _Earthling_  be anywhere _close_  to Boyd’s strength and impressive intellect? It was laughable and ridiculous.

Derek fell into the chair, everything still powered off, and crossed his arms.

“Show me a reason to work with him, or I’m not going to,” he said stubbornly.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a whirring sound hit and the lion came to life, screens appearing and controls lighting up. He waited for it to finish powering up, and then the screen in front of him shifted. The other two on either side flickered and also showed a different image than the hangar outside.

It once again showed him the Earthling’s appearance. He’d shown up and tried to save Boyd. The lion was translating what the Earthling was saying this time, and Derek scowled when he realized how scared he’d been, but he’d still tried to help Boyd. Even when Boyd had aimed his Bayard at him, threatened him, he still insisted he only wanted to help.

Derek looked away when Boyd finally passed, not needing to see it, but glanced back when he heard explosions. The Earthling looked like he tried to run, but the ramp had likely closed and he was gripping the back of the chair tightly. When Boyd’s lifeless body was thrown from the chair, Derek scowled, angry at the lion, but he watched the Earthling take his seat and begin poking around.

It was annoying to watch him actually succeed. The lion couldn’t show him what had happened from an outside point of view, but it showed him what Stiles saw on one screen, and the manoeuvrers he pulled to escape from the Alphs and blow them up were impressive. It was evident he’d never handled a machine like this, but he was actually succeeding in besting them, and Derek had to grudgingly admit that he was doing a half-decent job.

When the battle ended and the lion started heading into space with the Earthling freaking out, the screens flickered and went back to showing him the hangar.

Okay, so maybe _this_  particular Earthling wasn’t a complete waste. He had a long way to go, but maybe they could make this work. It would be hard, and he knew forming Voltron would take practice given it required a level of trust, but he had to hope this would work out.

Jackson would be the hardest to convince, considering it had taken him three months to agree to work with Boyd after his cowardice, and that was only because Boyd had saved his life.

“This is impossible,” he muttered to himself, dragging one hand down his face.

But they didn’t have a choice. They were stuck with this Earthling, and if they wanted this war to end, they had to be ready for the assault in two months.

He was going to work this moron to the bone.

* * *

Stiles let out a shout and rolled out of bed, landing hard on a cold, metal floor with a groan. He rubbed his head and looked around, momentarily disoriented before the events of the previous night came crashing back to him.

He was in space. He was in space, on a giant ship, having been brought there by a metallic cat after a failed attempt at saving an alien.

This was his life now.

He groaned, struggling to his feet, when someone banged loudly on his door and he realized why he’d woken up in the first place. He rubbed at his head where it hit the ground and headed closer to the door. It opened without prompting and Stiles wished it hadn’t, because big, scary Derek was standing on the other side.

He looked completely human this time around, his eyes a light green, high cheekbones and a perfectly manicured beard. He was actually kind of hot when he wasn’t threatening Stiles with a sword.

Then again, he’d been hot while threatening him with the sword, too.

“Hi,” he said slowly, eying him.

Derek gave him an unimpressed once over, scowl deepening, and snapped, “Get dressed and have breakfast. We have a lot of work to do.”

Stiles didn’t even have time to ask him about clothes because the other turned on his heel and stalked off without a moment’s hesitation.

“Jerk,” he muttered, the door shutting with a hiss when he stepped away from it.

He headed into the bathroom to relieve himself and when he didn’t find anything to brush his teeth with, he just rinsed it out with water. Thank _God_  water existed on this ship and it wasn’t like, weird and dangerous acid or anything.

He went to the in-built dresser and pushed on one of the drawers to open it. The clothes inside looked to be a mix of random things, including a thong and a baby onesie. He supposed the ship—or the people on it—had tried to grab all the Earth clothing they could find and shoved them into his dresser.

Digging through the clothes, he managed to find a pair of jeans that fit okay along with a T-shirt. It was a bit too big for him, but that didn’t bother him. Even his hoodie was in one of the drawers, cleaned and devoid of any blood-stains. He didn’t risk it though and just hunted around for socks before putting his shoes on.

He was about to leave the room when he saw his weapon—a Bayard, Laura had called it—on the floor. It had probably fallen with him off the bed and he snatched it up and managed to half-shove it into one of his back pockets.

When he exited the room, he looked both ways before shrugging and heading down the corridor. He turned corners at random, but everything looked the same, and he was convinced he was going to be lost on the ship for the rest of time when he rounded another corner and saw two people.

Sighing with relief, he started to call out to them when he froze.

The girl looked completely human, no different from Stiles himself, but he acknowledged that Scott, Laura and Derek could look human, too. Then again, Scott had mentioned that the green Paladin wasn’t a shape-shifter, and that it was a girl, so it was possible this was her.

She had long red hair in curls falling around her face, and was smirking rather haughtily at the guy leaning into her space, one arm resting above the girl’s head. He looked humanoid enough, but he had sections of skin with weird green scales crisscrossing along his exposed skin, and a tail.

A fucking _tail_.

Before he could say anything, the dude with the tail stiffened and whipped his head in his direction. Stiles was surprised to see his eyes were pure yellow, with slits for pupils. Like a fucking reptile. Oh god, reptile aliens were real, this was the _worst_! It was going to eat his brain.

“What are _you_  looking at, meat bag?” the reptile snapped.

“Be nice,” the girl insisted, slapping the other in the chest and moving away from him. She smoothed out the skirt she was wearing, which looked very Earth-like, and headed towards Stiles with a small smile. It was a cocky smile, and that irked him a little, but she was so beautiful he forgave her. “You must be the Earthling, Stiles. I’m Lydia from Bansh, the green Paladin.” She held her hand out and Stiles shook it.

She turned to grin at her companion. “I learned that last night. This is how Earthlings on most of the planet greet one another.”

The lizardman crossed his arms and scowled, but Stiles released Lydia’s hand soon after and shoved his in his pockets.

“That’s Jackson, from Kanim. He pilots the red lion.” Lydia motioned behind her.

“Lion?” Stiles asked.

“The ship you came here in,” Jackson sneered. “We’re in trouble if he doesn’t even know _that_.”

“Derek’s willing to give him a chance,” Lydia said, eying him with interest. “If someone like him has a bit of faith, there must be something special about this Earthling.”

“Can you stop calling me an Earthling?” Stiles asked. “It’s making me feel like a bug.”

He didn’t know what that translated to for the other two, but Jackson started killing himself laughing and Lydia looked horrified. Apparently his comment meant something different in both Kanim _and_  Bansh.

Clearing his throat and trying not to feel self-conscious, he asked where the food hall was, and the other two kindly agreed to show him to it. Well, Lydia kindly agreed, Jackson just tagged along with an arm around Lydia’s shoulders and glaring daggers at Stiles.

He raised both hands in surrender, giving him a clear, “She’s all yours, bro” look, and the other seemed to calm slightly at that.

They led him into a room with only a long, elegant table. Laura was at the head of it, speaking to someone Stiles hadn’t met yet on her right. Derek was on her left, scowling angrily across the table with his arms crossed. Scott was beside him, and waved when Stiles entered.

Stiles gratefully took the seat beside him, Lydia and Jackson moving to the other side and sitting down with Jackson beside the unknown man, and Stiles across from Lydia.

When they were all seated, Laura smiled at Stiles and folded her hands together on the table. “I trust you slept well?”

“For being on an alien ship, yeah, it wasn’t bad.” Stiles played with the utensil beside his plate. It looked like a weird fork, with two prongs and a rounded base. He didn’t want to know what he’d be eating with this, but was sure he would soon find out.

“I believe you’ve met everyone at the table except my royal advisor, Deaton.” She motioned the man to her right. “This is Stiles, from Earth,” she informed her advisor.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised the blue lion would choose someone from such a young, primitive planet, but Derek says you have potential, so I’ll trust his judgement.”

Stiles stared at him, then shifted to look at Derek, who seemed pissed at being outed. He didn’t know what had changed between his last encounter with him and this morning, but he was kind of glad for it. At least he wouldn’t be waving a sword in his face again.

Scott stood then and disappeared through another door. When he came back, it was with a large bowl of what looked like green goo with the consistency of mucus. He dumped a dollop of it on Laura’s plate, then Derek’s before moving to serve Deaton. He did Lydia and Jackson next, then Stiles, and himself last before placing the remainder in the centre of the table.

Stiles stared down at what was on his plate and felt like he might throw up. When he looked up, the others had all started eating, using the utensil he’d been playing with earlier to do so. Jackson was slurping up some of the goo that was still connected to the rest on his plate and Stiles gagged.

“Eat,” Laura said with a smile when Stiles turned to her. “You need to keep your strength up if you’re going to be a Paladin of Voltron.”

“Or training with Derek,” Jackson said quietly. Scott and Lydia both smiled to themselves and Derek glared at him.

“Oh. Yeah. Eating.” Stiles stared down at the goo, then picked up his utensil to play with it slightly. A bubble formed when he poked at a weird spot and then popped.

Nope. No way. No way he could eat this.

“Good. Nice. Yum. Great.” He set his utensil down. “You uh, you wouldn’t happen to have like, _cereal_  or you know, a bagel? Some coffee, even? I’m not picky, I’d even eat like, an apple right now. Or a head of lettuce? Cough syrup?”

Laura laughed at his reaction, but smiled kindly and said, “I promise, it tastes better than it looks. It was created by my people, it takes on the flavour of what the consumer likes best. I know it isn’t the most appetizing dish, but I assure you, it’s full of nutrients suitable for all species, and it will keep you energized during your training with Derek.”

Everyone was staring at him, waiting expectantly, and Stiles made a face before looking back down at his plate. God, was he really going to have to eat this? He would rather eat _dog food_ over this.

Wincing and picking up the utensil, it took him almost thirty seconds to get some of the goo onto it, and an additional fifty before he brought it close to his mouth. Clenching his eyes shut, he shoved it past his lips, determined to just get this over with, but he was surprised to find Laura was right.

While the consistency was less than ideal in his mouth, it somehow tasted like his dad’s famous burgers, and he opened his eyes to look down and make sure he was _actually_  still eating the goo. When he took another bite, sure enough, it still tasted like his dad’s burgers. Crazy.

“Told you,” Laura said with a laugh.

Deaton held his hand out to Jackson, who grumbled and reached into his pocket before dropping what Stiles assumed was currency into his hand. Apparently they’d made some kind of bet that Jackson had lost.

He ate while the others talked amongst themselves. Apparently they were upset that Derek was getting out of having to return Boyd’s body to his family because he was training Stiles.

Stiles assumed Boyd was the alien who’d died.

The others didn’t want to have to be there when the family found out, but Laura insisted it was necessary for them to show themselves in respect of Boyd’s service. Stiles and Derek were only staying behind because he needed to be trained.

Great, Stiles was going to be left alone on the ship with Grumpy McGrumppants. Just what he always wanted, to die at the hands of a hot, angry alien.

When they were finished eating, Scott collected everything to bring back into what Stiles assumed was the kitchen and they all headed up to the bridge. There were way more seats than people on the vessel, but Stiles waited for everyone to sit before choosing his own seat.

Deaton was at the very front, taking up one of three seats in front of a large control centre. Laura was standing on a raised platform with two waist-high pillars on either side, her hands hovering over them so that the crystals at the top glowed white. He assumed her chair was the large throne-like one a few feet back from the podium. On the left of that one two feet back Derek sat, with Lydia taking the one on the right. Scott sat behind Derek and Jackson behind Lydia.

There were a lot of additional seats to choose from, but Scott smiled and motioned the one that was almost directly behind the large throne-like one, half-way between the row occupied by Scott and Jackson, and the one occupied by Derek and Lydia.

He hesitated before heading for it, sitting down and shifting uncomfortably. The seat itself was comfortable, but he didn’t like what was going on right now. This was all kind of new for him, and he was thinking about his dad. He didn’t know what time it was, and he actually wasn’t sure what had happened to his phone.

It had been in his hoodie pocket when he’d pulled it off to help Boyd, so it might’ve still been in there, or fallen out in the lion. Either way, with all the throwing around the cockpit that had happened in the blue lion back on Earth, his phone was probably smashed to bits and, if not, at _least_  out of battery.

Not to mention he was pretty sure he was out of range of his cellphone provider’s service.

Stiles watched Laura while the ship slowly moved forward, and when a blue glow encased her, he saw the same portal as the day before appear on the screens in front of them. His mouth fell open, but when he looked around to see if the others were as impressed, he saw them all either looking bored or not even paying attention.

They slowly went through the portal, everything around them suddenly exploding with colour, and then shot out the other end. Stiles expected to jerk in his seat, but he didn’t even move, like the ship exploding out of a portal did nothing to his centre of gravity.

“Aliens are so cool,” he whispered to himself. He saw Derek turn to him out of the corner of his eye, but he was still staring ahead at the main screen. There was a black planet looming in front of them, and even from here it looked like it was covered in stone, with red patches of what Stiles assumed were lakes or water sources. Their water looked like lava, super.

He was glad he was staying on the ship.

They stopped when they were relatively close, and then Laura turned to the others. “All right, time to go. Deaton and I will take Boyd in the shuttle. The rest of you to your lions.” She looked at Derek. “Don’t break him. He’s an Earthling. Be gentle.”

“Hey,” Stiles insisted, insulted.

“Trust me, you’ll thank her later,” Scott said quietly, getting to his feet and filing out with Lydia and Jackson.

When the room was empty, Derek finally stood and moved in front of Stiles, scowling. Stiles just stared up at him, waiting for the other to speak, but he didn’t and just jerked his head towards the door before heading for it. Stiles sighed and got to his feet, following.

They walked in silence through the ship, Stiles _positive_  he was going to need a fucking map, and finally walked through a large door that led into what appeared to be some kind of training room. Derek walked into the middle of the room with Stiles following, and then pulled off his shirt.

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing, admiring the other’s muscles and smooth skin. He looked good enough to eat off of, and virtually entirely _human_. Stiles would never have known just looking at him right now that he was from another planet.

“We’ll work with your Bayard first,” Derek said, tossing his shirt aside and pulling his own Bayard from somewhere behind him. Stiles thought maybe he kept it in the hem of his pants, which were black and almost looked like dark jeans. “If you can’t control your Bayard, you’ll never control your lion.”

Derek’s weapon slowly morphed into the same sword he’d been holding the day before and Stiles grinned, liking this. He pulled his own Bayard out and held it, staring down at it intently. When nothing happened, he glanced up at Derek.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Channel your energy into the Bayard, and it will form whatever weapon is most suitable for you.” Derek swung his sword once, as if to expel some energy. “It will take time, connections are difficult to build with the lions, and—”

Derek cut off because Stiles was staring down at the Bayard and concentrating hard on it, and it suddenly morphed in his hand. The base was still the same circular shape with an open bottom and the handle in the middle, but the top of it had lengthened similarly to Derek’s and turned into a pole with a large bulbed tip.

“Oh, sweet!” Stiles said when he realized what it was, swinging it around to test its weight.

Derek walked right up to him, grabbing at his wrist and staring down at the weapon. “It took the rest of us weeks to activate our Bayards,” he said, sounding angry. “The fastest to do so was Lydia, and it took her almost nine days.” His eyes rose to lock with Stiles’. “How did you do this?”

Stiles shrugged. “You said to channel my energy, so I did.”

The other didn’t look happy, but he released Stiles’ wrist and took a step back, eying it. “What is it?”

“A bat,” Stiles informed him with a grin, swinging it around some more since his arm was free again.

“What use does it have on Earth? It doesn’t seem like a very effective weapon.”

“Hey, bats are awesome,” Stiles insisted, pointing it at Derek. “I bet my bat could hold its own against your sword, bucko!”

Stiles realized a split-second too late that he _probably_  shouldn’t have said that, because Derek took it as an invitation and rushed him, leaping off the ground at the last second and swinging his sword downward at Stiles’ face.

Letting out a shout, Stiles managed to get his bat raised in time to block the hit, but the force of it just had the bat slam into Stiles’ own face and he lost his footing and fell over. Derek stood over him, sword point against his heart, and small smirk on his face.

Stiles’ nose was bleeding and his face hurt from the bat hitting him. He scowled up at Derek angrily, wiping one arm across his bloody nose and slapped the sword away so he could sit up, struggling to his feet.

“You lack combat training,” Derek noted.

“Well I’m an eighteen year old high school student, we’re not really required to have combat training,” he snapped, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe at his face. His nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, and if he died from blood loss because he’d hit himself in the face with a magical bat, he was going to be _pissed_.

Derek frowned down at him. “What’s high school?”

“High school, you know, where you learn things to go to university to learn more things to go out in the world and get a job?” Derek kept staring at him and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

“This will be problematic.” Derek sighed, then said, “Computer, run simulation one.”

“Simulation what now?” Stiles asked, just as two robots materialized out of nowhere. “Uh oh.”

“Begin.”

“No, don’t begin!” Stiles insisted, the two robots charging him. With swords.

With _swords_!

Stiles managed to hold his own pretty well for someone without combat training against two fucking robots, but this wasn’t exactly his forte. He managed to take one out of commission, but the other got past his guard and slashed at him. He let out a shout when he felt pain in his face and wetness dripping down it. He was still swinging away at the robot when Derek said,

“Stop.”

The robot instantly froze and Stiles, unable to stop that fast, knocked its head clean off, the item flying across the room in an impressive home run.

Derek strode up to him and grabbed his chin, twisting his head to the side to see the wound on his face.

“You aren’t healing,” he said, rather stupidly.

“Of course I’m not healing, what are you talking about?” Stiles demanded, then paused. “Wait, do _you_  heal?”

“Of course we heal,” Derek snapped, irritated. “Only Lydia is unable to heal, and Boyd was able to heal most injuries save severe ones, which is unfortunately what resulted in his death. Jackson, Scott and I, along with my sister and Deaton, can heal any and all injuries barring ones to the head.”

“Good to know,” Stiles grumbled and Derek scowled more. “Sorry, I’m a fragile little Earthling, I don’t heal.”

Derek let out a frustrated sigh, eyes flashing blue, and then he leaned down. Before Stiles could ask what he was doing, he felt the flat of Derek’s tongue slide up the cut on his cheek and flailed his arms, pushing Derek away from him.

“Whoa! Whoa, dude, whoa! What the fuck?! Boundaries! Disease! Biohazard!” He reached for his cheek and whined at the wetness of Derek’s spit. “Ew, gross. I can’t believe you just _licked_  me, what the hell?”

“Stop being childish,” Derek insisted, rolling his eyes. “Lycan saliva has healing properties. You’re welcome.”

Stile frowned, but then patted at his cheek in full, eyes widening when he realized the cut was gone. He wiped at his cheek with the bottom of his shirt and then ran his fingers all over it, but it felt smooth and whole, the pain gone.

“Dude! That’s awesome!” He grinned.

“Your fragility is as inconvenient as Lydia’s,” Derek said in reply. “Computer, set parameters to Earthling physiology. Run simulation one.”

Two more robots appeared and Stiles whined, raising his bat. “Really? This sucks.”

“Begin.”

* * *

Derek continued to train Stiles in the simulation room for close to a week while the others left with their lions to help various planets when Alphs attacked. It hadn’t escaped people’s notice that the blue lion—and more of a concern, _Voltron_ —hadn’t been seen in a long time.

They all knew they would need to have Stiles up and running sooner rather than later, but Derek was concerned. Stiles was smart, and interested in _everything_ , as proven by how quickly he and Lydia had bonded, much to Jackson’s chagrin, but he was clumsy and weak and _fragile_. Stiles couldn’t even best Lydia in a fight, and she was the weakest of them all. If it came down to a fight outside his lion, Derek didn’t think Stiles would survive it.

And what he hated the most was that he could tell Stiles was _trying_. He was working hard enough to work up a sweat and be out of breath every time they trained, and even when Derek stopped them for breaks, Stiles sat in a corner drinking water and watching videos of his own training on his new gauntlet—courtesy of Laura.

When they weren’t training, he found Stiles learning Lycan with their translator in the library, or with Lydia learning about how the ship operated and how best to get from his room to his lion if there was ever an emergency.

He even worked out in his room when he thought no one could see him—Derek knew how the ship worked, he could access everything, including the showers, much to Jackson’s annoyance. Derek never used his ability to spy on anyone, not in the showers anyway, but Stiles was interesting.

He’d been told about the war, Laura explaining his importance in the upcoming battle, and he was putting one-hundred percent into all of his training. He whined and complained _constantly_ , but he never asked to stop, and he never refused to come when Derek summoned him.

Derek wondered if all Earthlings were like this, or if it was only Stiles. He was interesting for a species from a primitive planet like Earth. For the briefest of moments, Derek thought that maybe this could actually work. Maybe Stiles would be good enough and they could win the war.

But then he’d watch him in simulations and that hope would be crushed. He was fast, but he seemed to lack focus, and often kept an eye on the wrong target, which allowed another target to sneak up on him. If Derek hadn’t enabled Earthling physiology for him on the first day, Stiles would’ve been covered in cuts and bruises.

Halfway through a session in his second week there, Derek called it to a stop and moved forward, Stiles turning to him, sweat sticking his shirt to him and chest rising and falling while he breathed hard. He scowled at him, stopping in front of him.

“You lack focus,” he informed him.

“Yeah, well, your ship lacks Adderall, so that’s not really my fault,” he responded.

His translator couldn’t accurately translate “Adderall,” but Stiles had complained about not having it for a number of days. Derek had tried to look it up in the ship’s computer, but it lacked enough data to accurately advise on what it was for. The best he’d ascertained was that it was some form of medicine to a chemical imbalance in the human brain.

Essentially, Stiles required medication and the ship didn’t have it, so he struggled. Derek didn’t know how to help resolve this matter, aside from sending Deaton to Earth to get some, but that was too risky so instead, Stiles just suffered.

Derek had asked if he would die without it the first time Stiles had mentioned it, because then it _would_  be worth getting some, but when Stiles confirmed he could fight his way through its need, Derek let it go. But he still brought it up frequently.

“This Adderall, it allows you to focus?”

“Yeah, mostly. But I mean, my ADHD makes me wired enough I shouldn’t have problems with the whole fighting thing, I’m just super tired and more of a theory as opposed to practice kind of guy.”

“You just lack training,” Derek insisted. He moved up behind Stiles and felt the other tense when Derek pressed himself into his back. Stiles was only a little shorter than him, and Derek realized that from this close, he actually smelled good. It was weird to think he smelled good when he was covered in sweat, but somehow, he did.

Ignoring that, he grabbed Stiles’ wrists with either hand and then told the computer to continue. When one of the robots charged them, he barked at Stiles to shift his left leg back, and then forced his arms to move accordingly to deflect the attack. Derek continued to control Stiles’ arms while telling him what to do with his feet. Occasionally Stiles stepped back on Derek’s own, but he just barked at him to pay attention and kept the fight up.

They did two entire simulations like this, and by the third, he let Stiles try on his own. He wasn’t necessarily _better_ , but he looked like he was thinking a bit more, and occasionally shifted his feet in a way that worked well, if he could only coordinate it with his hands.

By the seventh simulation, he was improving ever so slightly, and at the fifteenth, he was actually doing better than he had been since he’d arrived.

Derek called for a break after his thirty-third simulation and Stiles just sat down where he stood, breathing hard and raking a hand through his sweaty hair. Derek’s eyes examined every part of his features and found that, for an Earthling, he was fairly attractive. Now that he didn’t resent him for ruining their plans, he could admit that Stiles would have done well with the ladies on Lycandor. He had nice bone structure.

Wandering to Stiles’ water when he realized he was staring, he picked it up and found it empty. He told him he was going to get him a refill and Stiles thanked him before falling on his back, staring at the ceiling and breathing hard. Derek watched him until he reached the door, exiting it and heading for the kitchens.

He was in the process of refilling the container for him when Laura slunk into the room, a mischievous grin on her face. That never boded well and Derek scowled at her while screwing the lid back onto the container he held.

“Stiles seems to be doing well,” she said, still grinning.

“He’s improving, but not fast enough. I think it’s time to bring him out in the lion and hope that hand-to-hand combat doesn’t occur for him.”

He started to leave the kitchens, but Laura stood in the way and he gave her an exasperated look. She was there for a reason, and he wanted her to just spit it out.

“I saw how you were helping him,” she said slyly, grabbing at one of her wrists with the other. “I feel like I’ve seen you use that only once before to help someone train.”

Derek glared at her hard, but she didn’t get the hint and just continued, still grinning.

“You did that with Paige. As I recall, you _liked_  her, and used training with her as an excuse to get closer to her. And you used _that_  tactic to get even _closer_  to her.”

“I’m the only one qualified to train Stiles on this ship,” Derek snapped. “Unless _you_  want to do it.”

“As far as I remember, I _did_  offer to train him at the beginning, but you very emphatically said that _you_  would do it.” Derek said nothing. “You _like_  him.”

“He’s useful for the cause,” Derek retorted instantly.

“Oh my God, Derek, you _actually_  like him!” Her smile was less malicious and more endearing now. “That’s actually really great.”

“It’s nothing,” Derek bit out. “He’s here for the war, and then he goes home. And I _don’t_  like him.”

He pushed past her rather roughly, but she just followed along behind him, not letting him get away.

“Derek, don’t be like that. I think it’s good for you to have someone. I mean, what were you planning on doing after the war? Dying alone on a deserted planet?”

“That was the idea,” he grumbled.

Laura moved in front of him and forced him to a stop, one hand on his chest and frown on her face. “I know I reacted badly when I found out our planet was destroyed, and I know you blame yourself for what happened, but it wasn’t your fault, Derek. You can’t live your life expecting to die alone and miserable because of a mistake.”

“A mistake that destroyed our entire planet,” he snapped. “A mistake that killed our _family_ , our _people_. A mistake that cost Scott his _father_.”

“But still a mistake,” Laura insisted. “Derek, if it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been someone else. The Alphs have been trying to rid the universe of Lycandor for centuries, and they would’ve succeeded regardless of whether or not you were there to let them in. It could’ve just as easily have been Cora. Or even _me_.”

Laura pressed one hand to his cheek and smiled. “It’s okay to want to be happy, Derek. When this is all over, you’re going to have to accept that your combat training is going to be no use to you. And when I go to Bansh, I want you to think about what you want to do with the rest of your life. Can you do that? For me?”

He scowled at her, but eventually nodded when it was clear she wouldn’t let him leave until he agreed. She smiled and patted his cheek, then moved aside so he could return to Stiles.

When he walked in, he found Stiles already fighting another robot, and Derek stood at the door watching his footwork, pleased that he seemed to be getting the hang of it.

Once more, while watching Stiles, he truly felt like maybe there was hope.

* * *

“He’s not bad,” Deaton said, standing beside Derek while they both watched the screen in front of them.

“He’s not great,” Derek groused, arms crossed and usual scowl on his face.

“He’s been here for sixteen days, Derek,” the advisor reminded him. “You were still attempting to awaken your Bayard on your sixteenth day.”

Derek didn’t even turn to glare at him, because it was true. He knew he was being unfair, and pushing Stiles harder than anyone else on the team had been pushed, but they were quickly running out of time. They had just forty-two days before the assault on Alph with the coalition, and right now he was watching Stiles get his ass kicked.

He was in the blue lion—his third day out in space—and Derek had sent some drones out to test his reflexes. He was doing better today than he had the first day, but still not great. The drones were smaller than Alph fighters, but still large enough that he shouldn’t have been missing as many as he was.

More than once, he’d aimed towards the ship in error and upon missing a drone, had fired on the castle itself. Luckily the shields were up, but what happened if they were fighting on the ground in a village? Stiles was liable to burn the whole place down.

When Stiles missed yet another drone, Derek lost his patience and opened a channel.

“Focus,” he snapped, annoyed.

_“I’m trying,”_ Stiles insisted.

Derek scowled at his image, frustration rising. Stiles looked pale on the screen, wearing blue paladin armour, the while parts of it washing out his skin even more. He looked exhausted, and had deep purple marks under his eyes.

Unfortunately, not much was known about Earthlings, so Derek had no idea why he looked like that, and if he had more time, he’d probably have looked into it. As it was, he didn’t, so he closed the channel and sent out more drones, changing their guns to heavier artillery.

Maybe he would focus more when real damage was being done.

“I think you’re pushing him too hard,” Deaton said.

“We _need_  him,” Derek snapped. “How are we supposed to form Voltron when he can barely fly in a straight line?”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe he can’t fly in a straight line because he’s tired?” Deaton asked.

Derek ignored him, but the advisor moved to a neighbouring console and began typing. After a moment, he made a sound of interest and Derek unintentionally turned to look at the screen, as well. He frowned at what he saw, uncrossing his arms and moving closer to Deaton.

“Those are called bags,” he said, turning to Derek. “Something which occurs when Earthlings are not achieving the required number of hours of sleep a night.” He scrolled down, the two of them reading, and Derek started.

“Eight hours?!” He’d barely been letting Stiles get three. Lydia only needed one hour of sleep a night, being a higher being, whereas the rest of them from Lycandor and Kanim needed three. Boyd had needed four, but Derek had had no _idea_  Stiles as an Earthling needed a solid _eight_  in order to function!

The fact that he was doing this well at _all_  was actually a miracle, given he’d gotten almost half _less_  sleep than he required.

He called off the drones, opened a channel and barked, “Stiles, get back in here.”

Stiles looked like he could cry and said he’d be right there, turning the lion around and heading back towards the hangar. Derek left the bridge to meet him, furious. At himself, at Stiles, at Boyd, at fucking _everything_.

He hated that this was all Stiles was going to experience of outer space. A ship preparing for a war that he was being forced to join in. Training day after day, learning everything he could about the people he was with, and their homeworlds. Putting his life on the line for a war he had nothing to do with.

Derek hated it, and he hated Stiles.

Stupid, fragile, annoyingly compliant Stiles. Who complained non-stop but never said no. Who fought hard while exhausted but never yielded. Who was exhausted from lack of sleep but never said a word.

He wanted to punch him in the face, but he might break his fragile human skull.

He realized he’d let his Lycan side show in his anger, because he met Stiles halfway across the hangar and the other froze. He only did that when Derek looked more Lycan than usual. When Derek glanced down at his hands, he saw claws, but he was too angry to reign it in and stormed over to him.

“You need eight hours of sleep,” he accused.

Stiles blinked at him, swaying on his feet, but he just rubbed at his face and said, “What?”

“I looked it up,” he snapped, ignoring that it had actually been _Deaton_  to look it up. “Earthlings require eight hours of sleep!”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles said with a frown. “How many do you need?”

“Three!”

He looked startled. “Oh. That explains a lot, actually. I thought you were just a dick and wanted me training harder.”

“You’re of no use to me if you can’t stay awake while I’m trying to train you!” Derek snapped angrily, taking a step forward.

He felt some of his anger fade when Stiles took two scrambling steps back, feeling hurt lance through his chest. Stiles looked scared of him right now. He looked like he wasn’t sure that Derek wasn’t about to hurt him, and that—it really hurt, actually.

They’d been together for hours daily since Stiles had arrived, either training or eating, or even translating things since Stiles was adamant he wanted to learn Lycan despite the gauntlets allowing them to communicate with ease. Lydia said he was even learning Bansh, and was already leagues ahead of Jackson, who’d been with them for literal _years_.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered, hugging himself and averting his gaze.

Derek didn’t like this Stiles. Exhausted Stiles was quiet, and scared, and unhappy. Exhausted Stiles reminded him of how Derek had been the day his planet had been destroyed.

And he was still hurt that Stiles would _ever_  think he would hurt him.

He wanted to insist that he wouldn’t. He wanted to tell Stiles that no matter what, he would never raise a hand at him, but instead he just said, “Go to your room and get some sleep.”

Stiles nodded, but didn’t move. Derek turned on his heel and left the hangar, but he ducked into a room just outside and waited. It took a full three minutes before Stiles exited the hangar, as if wanting to be sure Derek was well and truly gone. Derek scowled at that, displeased, and just waited for Stiles’ footsteps to fade before exiting the room and heading back for the bridge.

He was annoyed to find Laura there when he got back, because he knew that meant Deaton had told her what they’d found out, and she’d probably seen everything that had happened in the hangar. Deaton was working on something on the other side of the room and Derek walked over to Laura when she beckoned him.

“Deaton told you.”

“It’s not your fault, Derek,” she insisted with a sigh. “None of us knew. If we had, we would’ve said something. He should’ve told us.”

“Were you watching?”

He knew she had been by the way she winced. Derek was used to people being afraid of him. He was large for a Lycan, tall and muscled, and skilled with a sword. He had a hard expression set on his face at all times, and he often stood with his arms crossed, even unconsciously.

People were often scared of him, but he hadn’t thought Stiles was one of them. He and Stiles had been together every waking moment for _days_  and to have him jerk away from him like he had was hurtful. He knew he was rough and harsh, and a merciless trainer, but he’d thought they knew one another well enough that he shouldn’t have been so afraid.

“I know how important it is for us to form Voltron,” Laura said quietly. “I know what’s at stake, believe me, but you’re pushing him too hard. He is going to break if you don’t slow down, and then we will have nothing.”

Derek rubbed at his face with both hands, trying to calm himself down. He was worried enough about Stiles, he didn’t want to worry about Voltron, too. He’d also just lost an additional five hours a day of training due to Stiles’ Earthling sleep schedule.

And Stiles was miserable. He put on a brave face, joked and laughed with the others, and showed interest in everything, but he was still miserable. Derek knew why, because the expression he sometimes wore when he thought no one was looking was the same one he saw on Laura, Scott and Deaton’s faces.

Stiles was homesick.

It made sense, he’d literally been snatched away by the blue lion in the middle of the night. He hadn’t asked to go home since the first day he’d arrived, but Derek knew he wanted to go back every day.

Sometimes, Derek was scared he never would.

What if Stiles died during this final battle? What if he never made it back to Earth? The Earthlings were so far removed from what was happening out in the galaxy, Derek didn’t even know what part of Earth Stiles belonged to. He didn’t know how he would find his family if Stiles died.

Did he even have one? He must, but Derek didn’t know anything about them. He needed to change that.

“I’ll give him a day off tomorrow,” Derek muttered, heading for the exit. “He can sleep and take some time.”

Before he’d made it very far, an alarm sounded in the room and he whipped around, Scott’s face overtaking the middle screen. He and the other three had left a while ago to help liberate the nearby planet of Nemet, inhabited by tree-folk. They’d seen a minimal Alph presence, so it should’ve been an easy battle, but the distressed look on Scott’s face suggested otherwise.

_“There was a battleship hidden behind Nemet’s second moon,”_ he shouted, then grunted when his lion was hit, the screen flickering once before settling. _“There are too many. Jackson’s lion is damaged, Lydia’s in trouble, and I don’t know how much longer my armour can hold out against these blasts on the capital city!”_

“I’m on my way,” Derek said, turning and racing out of the room.

“Be carful,” Laura called after him.

Derek didn’t respond, he just raced down the corridor, _really_  wishing they had Voltron right now.

* * *

When Stiles woke up, he felt better than he had in what felt like _years_. He’d been so exhausted the past few days he didn’t know how he was still functioning. He’d been forced into the blue lion to train when he was barely able to think straight.

And then Derek had been barking orders at him and being a colossal douchebag up until yesterday, where he’d had the _nerve_  to be pissed at _Stiles_  for not telling him he needed more than three hours of sleep.

How was Stiles supposed to know Lycans only needed three hours of sleep?! Really, Derek was the one with the know-how on the computer’s usage on this ship, why had it taken him so long to look into it?!

Stiles knew he was also at fault and should have said something sooner, but he’d honestly just thought Derek was being a dick and waking him that early for training because he needed so much of it. He should’ve clued in earlier when he saw how unaffected Derek was at the lack of sleep.

Hell, Stiles had been so tired that for a moment earlier, he thought Derek had morphed into a monster and it had startled him so badly he’d almost lost control of his bladder. He’d focussed and realized it was just Derek’s Lycan form, but his tired brain had struggled to acknowledge that.

But he felt good, now. Refreshed and ready to start a new day.

Of training. Again.

Stiles was glad that he found other things to do in his down time, otherwise he’d have been bored a while ago. In retrospect, he probably should’ve tried napping more during his down time, but it was so hard to know when Derek would show up and demand they train more so it ended up just being easier staying awake.

The corridor was empty when he exited his room, which didn’t surprise him. He tapped on his gauntlet to check the time—it was set to Earth time to help his poor little brain, since Lycans followed the twenty-four hour rule, but in a different way—and found it was just after six in the evening. That was going to fuck with his sleep schedule.

He headed for the kitchens to get some food, and was surprised to find it empty. Scott tended to hang around in there a lot, and he felt like something was wrong. He didn’t know _why_  he felt that, but he did, so he turned without bothering to grab anything and headed back out into the corridor.

When he reached the bridge, he found Laura and Deaton arguing, the former pacing and the latter sitting in his usual seat, watching her. Stiles frowned and stepped further into the room, Laura turning to look at him when she noticed his presence.

“What’s going on?” he asked uncertainly. Laura looked almost hysterical.

“We haven’t heard from the others in quite some time,” Deaton said calmly, but his worried expression betrayed how concerned he was. “They went to a nearby planet to help rid it of the Alph presence, and Scott called right after your training ended for assistance. Derek left immediately, and we lost contact with them all moments after his arrival.”

Stiles’ gaze shot to Laura, who was still pacing, and he understood why she was so scared. Her brother was down there, along with four of five lions that supposedly formed a powerhouse robot called Voltron. If they’d fallen into Alphan hands, the assault the following month wouldn’t happen. The war would continue, and the Alphs would be in possession of four of the lions.

This was bad. This was extremely bad. Stiles hadn’t seen first-hand what the Alphs did to people’s planets, but he’d seen enough footage of the destruction since his arrival and knew based on the few planets he _had_  visited since their liberation that the Alphs were vile, horrible, vicious creatures. Voltron was a beacon of hope, and people who suffered now were holding out for the day Voltron would defeat the Alphs and free the universe of their invading force.

Stiles couldn’t let the hope die here. He couldn’t let Scott or Lydia or Derek die here.

Or Jackson, too, he supposed. The guy was a dick, but he protected people, he deserved to be rescued.

Stiles went over to Deaton and took the seat beside him. He wasn’t well versed with the main controls, but he could navigate well enough to pull up information he needed. He looked through the archives for Voltron footage, and asked Deaton what planet the others were on, looking that up, as well.

The entire planet was covered in trees, and apparently the planet’s inhabitants were tree-folk—which was cool to Stiles and _very_  J.R.R. Tolkien, but he reigned in his excitement.

He stared at the screen in front of him, thinking, and then turned to Deaton. “What’s the range on the ship’s canon?”

Deaton blinked at him, surprised by the question. When he answered, Stiles pulled up a planetary map of the solar system the planet was in, calculating in his head and nodding slowly. “It could work. No, it _will_  work.” He turned to Laura. “I’ve got an idea.”

“I can’t let you go out there,” she insisted. “You’re still in training, and we can’t lose the blue lion.”

“That’s fine, I won’t take the lion.” He turned back to point at the map he was looking at. “I can get the others free, but only if you can shoot the castle’s cannon with absolute accuracy.” He rubbed at his chin. “The only problem is the lions. It’s unlikely they’ve left them out in the open on the ground, they probably put them on a ship. If I go for the others first, the ship will take off and we’ll lose the lions. But if I go for the lions first, we risk losing the Paladins if they decide to kill them.” _Provided they haven’t already,_  he added quietly, but didn’t think it would be a good idea to voice it aloud.

He turned to Laura, and could see the struggle on her face. She wanted to say “Save the Paladins!” but she knew as well as Stiles did that the more important thing was saving the lions. Paladins could be replaced, the lions couldn’t.

It looked like it killed her to finally say, “Get to the lions first.”

Stiles nodded and turned back to the screen. He spoke to Deaton about his plan, who looked pleased and impressed, and then they talked numbers and where to position the ship. Stiles confirmed that the lions would respond to him, despite their Paladins not being there, and Deaton promised that they would. They were likely holed up somewhere, but as long as even one of their Paladins was still alive, they would remain on their side and listen to Stiles.

With the plan set, they used the Teleduv to move closer to the area they needed to be in, and Stiles took the shuttle out of the ship. It felt weird being in a space suit that _wasn’t_  his Paladin armour, but it was necessary for the plan to work. He’d been wearing Paladin armour for the past few days while training, but he couldn’t be seen as a Paladin, or his entire plan would fall apart.

The good thing about the ship he took was that it was small, and had camouflage, which realistically was ninety percent of his plan. Everything hinged on him not fucking up in the battleship while he got to the lions. If he was caught, the plan as a whole failed.

So really, no pressure.

Stiles could see the battleship looming, heart slamming against his ribs, but the ship was so small it wasn’t caught on any radars—so said Deaton—and wouldn’t get locked out of the shields—so said Laura. Apparently Derek had infiltrated a ship similar to this once before in the same manner, so Stiles had to cross his fingers and hope they hadn’t realized what Derek had done.

He held his breath while passing through the shield, and was pleased to _not_  be dead _or_  detected. He eased the ship slowly to the far end of the battleship near the top and then used the anchors on the bottom to lock his shuttle against the battleship.

“Please be, like, the storage room or something,” Stiles muttered when he opened the hatch and jumped down onto the top of the ship. The two were fully connected so that the vacuum of space wouldn’t suck everything out of either of the ships upon opening.

He pulled out his Bayard and slammed it against the surface of the ship, using one of its functions to cut through the metal. It was surprisingly quick and easy, which just showed the might and power of the Voltron technology, and he cut a hole into the ship. He held his breath when the ends of the circle connected and the metal ceiling of the ship fell. It landed with a loud clatter and he cautiously poked his head inside.

Score! He was in a hangar! A _dark_  hangar, suggesting no one was nearby.

Connecting a lead to his shuttle, Stiles lowered himself quickly to the ground, heart pounding the entire time he was exposed, and finally felt his feet hit the metal surface. He disengaged the lead from his belt, put his Bayard away, and then picked up the _extremely heavy_ , holy shit, piece of metal he’d carved out of the ceiling and moved it somewhere more hidden.

He hurried through the hangar, making his way to the door, and then leaned against the wall on one side of it, breathing hard and struggling to remain calm.

“This was _your_  idea, Stilinski,” he reminded himself. “Come on, let’s do this!”

He exhaled sharply, then hit a button beside the door, hearing it open with a hiss. He waited for a few seconds, then peeked out, seeing nothing. This area seemed deserted, but he was positive the lions would be heavily guarded.

Patting his pocket to make sure he still had the foam bomb Deaton had made him, he hurried down the corridor and ducked at the end, crouching by the corner and peeking around it before continuing. He almost ran into a set of Alph guards, but thankfully they were facing away from him, griping about something that had happened earlier that day and Stiles was able to duck down another corridor.

“Okay,” he whispered, tapping at his gauntlet to pull up a map of the ship. Laura said she wasn’t sure how accurate it was, since their intel was fairly outdated, but it was the best he had and at least his Bayard made it so he could track the lions _through_  the map.

It opened up to show him where he was located on the battleship, a blinking blue light denoting him. The other four lights were three levels beneath him, according to the map—if it was accurate.

Laura had insisted that with the Paladins on the ground, most of the crew would be, as well, to keep an eye on them, but even if that was true, getting to the lions was impossible compared to getting to the Paladins. He had a _plan_  for getting them free. Not so much with the lions, he was mostly just crossing his fingers and hoping for the best.

“This is never gonna work,” he insisted to himself just as two legs appeared in front of him. He closed the map and slowly looked up, seeing an Alph guard glaring down at him.

“Hello,” he said slowly.

The guard growled, face distorted similarly to Derek’s when he got mad, and Stiles hastily rolled between the Alph’s legs, pulling his Bayard out and bringing up the bat. The Alph turned, raising a sword, and Stiles swung haphazardly, then cried out and jerked back when he felt something slice through his arm.

_Focus,_ he heard Derek’s voice say in his head. Stiles exhaled sharply, trying to pretend this was no different from one of the simulations. When the guard swung again, Stiles blocked him with the bat, then twisted to elbow the Alph in the face. He felt like it hurt his elbow more than it hurt the Alph, but he pivoted away quickly and put some space between them.

The fight wasn’t so much a fight as it was Stiles blocking swings of the Alph’s sword and then moving into the alien’s space to injure him. Eventually, the Alph got smart and caught on to the tactic so that when Stiles went to do it again, the Alph dropped his sword and blocked Stiles’ attack with his free hand, then used the no-longer-sword hand to grab Stiles by the neck and lift him off the ground.

Stiles dropped his Bayard, both hands grabbing at the Alph’s wrist, struggling to breathe even as he felt his throat being crushed. He wasn’t going to go out like this! He _refused_  to go out like this!

In a desperate attempt for oxygen, Stiles did the only thing he could think of.

Praying to the heavens, he kicked the Alph between the legs.

Apparently, even aliens had balls because he was instantly dropped and the Alph fell back into the wall, holding his family jewels with both hands. Stiles didn’t hesitate to pick up his fallen Bayard, weapon reappearing, and he swung at the Alph’s head like he was trying to hit a home run.

If he’d had a real bat, it would’ve shattered at the force of his swing. As it was, all it did was break the Alph’s helmet and crush his skull, the alien falling lifelessly to the ground.

Stiles stared for a long moment, then let out a small laugh and thrust both hands in the air. “Did you see that?” he demanded, turning around, then remembered he was by himself. “Right. No one ever sees me being badass.”

He replaced his Bayard and started to leave when he looked at the guard’s clothes and paused. It was _so_  movie-esque, and ridiculous, and completely insane, but...

It worked in the movies for a reason.

“Man,” he groaned, bending down. “I hope you didn’t let loose downstairs when I killed you. I do _not_  want to smell like a walking toilet.”

* * *

Derek’s knees were starting to hurt from his kneeling position on the hard ground of the capital. His wrists were burning from the cuffs the Alphs were using on him, but he tried to focus more on his knees because he worried he would start screaming if he allowed himself to feel the skin of his wrists literally being burned off.

Scott was breathing hard beside him, hands clenched tightly behind his back, likely struggling to ignore the same thing. Lycans and Alphs had similar physiology—the irony of their war—so they knew exactly how to contain people like them. They were all allergic to a specific metal created in the Huntris Galaxy, and the Alphs had sent slaves from other planets to mine it and create special weapons and restraints out of them for their Lycan enemies.

Back when Lycandor had still been around, it was useful to have, but now it was just five of them. One was on Bansh, and two were safe on the ship, so it was just him and Scott.

Jackson would’ve been fine to break out of his restraints, since not very much could contain the strength of a Kanima, but the Alphs were smart and had connected Jackson’s restraints to a trap linked to Lydia. If Jackson so much as breathed wrong, the trap would spring and kill her. It was also keeping someone as smart as Lydia still, because one wrong move on her end, and it would inadvertently jostle Jackson, and same outcome.

They were completely out of luck, and waiting for orders from the leader of the Alphs on what was to be done with them. Their lions were taken, the people of this poor planet were being enslaved as they kneeled in the capital, and Derek was going to die without ever seeing his sister again.

He supposed he should be grateful. Laura was safe up on the ship, along with Deaton.

And Stiles.

Thank God he’d sent Stiles to bed. If he hadn’t, and he’d foolishly told him to come with him, Stiles would’ve been kneeling right beside him. He would’ve been captured along with them, and he would die alongside them. The Alphs would have all five lions, and thus Voltron, and the universe would be doomed.

He was actually kind of annoyed with himself that his last encounter with Stiles had ended with him afraid of him. He wished they could’ve spoken at least once when Stiles was more awake so he could apologize and explain himself.

Hopefully Stiles would understand. Hopefully he would stay with Laura, continue to train, master the use of the blue lion. Maybe one day he could go and steal back the other lions, one by one. He was one of the original Paladins, they would listen to him. That was the only solace Derek had right now.

Even though the Alphs had four of the lions, they remained loyal to their Paladins until death. Once their Paladin died, they remained loyal to the other existing Paladins in the unit they’d been in until a new Paladin was chosen. Even then, the Paladin chosen—as seen with the blue lion when it had gone from Boyd to Stiles—it always chose within the same ideals as its old Paladin.

The only time there was cause for concern was when all five Paladins of the same set died at once. It reset the lions and it was first come first serve. As long as Stiles was alive, the four captured lions would remain loyal to Stiles. The moment he died, however, if the rest of them were also gone, the lions would be free to choose from anyone in the Alph empire.

Derek liked to think the lions were like the Lycans, having been created by them, and would always follow the path of the good and righteous, but that wasn’t how they worked. A cruel king had once ruled Lycandor, and the lions had yielded to him and his evil army. The lions, particularly the black one, saw a worthy Paladin in the king, so it chose him. It didn’t matter if the person was good or bad, if they were _worthy_ , the lions made the choice.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said quietly to Scott, who tilted his head in his direction to show he was listening. “I’m sorry you won’t get to see your mom again. Or Allison.”

Scott was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you like my father did.”

“I’m sorry I let you jerks talk me into this stupid mess,” Jackson grumbled from Scott’s other side, barely moving his lips in fear of setting off the trap that would kill Lydia.

The girl herself didn’t speak, and Derek sighed, closing his eyes. This was the end of them, but hopefully Stiles would get the lions back one day. It meant their plans for next month were shot, but as long as one Paladin remained, there was hope.

Derek’s head shot up when a guard shouted, “Stop!”

His eyes travelled to see where the Alph was looking, other guards and sentries having stopped what they were doing to aim weapons in that direction, and Derek’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach at who he saw walking out of the trees.

“Whoa, whoa, I come in peace. I’m unarmed, I swear!” Stiles insisted, hands waving above his head in surrender. “I swear, I come in peace! I even come bearing gifts!”

“Identify yourself,” one of the Alphs—who was likely in charge—growled, another approaching Stiles and grabbing his arm. He allowed himself to be dragged forward, the guards moving closer, likely wondering why someone would _announce_  their presence, and also how he’d gotten there without being spotted.

“Calm down, calm down, we’re all friends here.” Stiles pulled free from the guard and straightened his shirt, giving him an annoyed look before facing the one in front of him. “My name’s Stiles, and I’m here to ask for your help.”

“Help?” the commander sneered. “And why should we help you? Do you know who we are, boy?”

“Yes, which is why I’ve come with a deal for you.” Stiles beamed. “I can give you the blue lion.”

If Derek’s heart had sunk before, it was nothing to what it was doing now, which was escaping from his body and running away before being crushed underfoot, tossed into a fire, and then dissolved in acid.

“What?!” Scott demanded, horrified. “Stiles, what are you doing?!”

“Oh, shut up.” Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott. “I never wanted to be here, and I gotta think about what’s important to _me_. My planet. People I care about.” He looked back at the commander. “I want a meeting with your leader. In exchange for the blue lion, I want to be brought home, and I want my planet spared when the war hits my galaxy. You can do whatever you want elsewhere, but my planet stays safe. Those are my terms.”

“You son of a bitch,” Jackson hissed angrily and even Lydia was scowling, but clearly too worried to do anything more.

Derek just knelt there, staring incredulously at Stiles, unable to believe this. He’d known Stiles was miserable and homesick, and he knew he was pushing him, but he had never _imagined_  that he would betray them like this. He’d thought Stiles was a good person, the blue lion had _chosen_  him.

How could this be happening?

“You have the blue lion?” the commander asked suspiciously.

“I sure do.” Stiles beamed. “Want me to go get it? It’s just in the trees over there.” He pointed towards where he’d come from.

The commander eyed him, still seeming not to believe him, and asked, “What planet are you from?”

“Mieczyslaw. It’s in the Stilinski quadrant.”

Derek and Scott shared a look at that.

Miec-what in the who-now?

“Never heard of it.”

“Really? Oh man, you are missing out. We have the best bouncy houses, and our clouds are made of cotton candy, and every person on the planet has their own unicorn.”

“I think I’ve heard of that planet,” one of the guards near Derek whispered to another.

Derek ignored them, too busy trying to figure out what was going on. His heart was starting to speed up in his chest at the realization that Stiles was bluffing. This was all a fucking bluff. But _how_?! How was he going to bluff this, was he _crazy_?!

“Show us the lion, and we’ll see what we can do about a meeting with Deucalion,” the commander said.

“Sure!” Stiles beamed and turned to head for the trees.

The commander sneered at his retreating back, then laughed quietly with his neighbour over how dumb Stiles was since they were obviously going to kill him the second he proved he had the blue lion.

Stiles had almost reached the trees when he stopped and snapped his fingers, turning around to point at the commander. “Sorry, one more thing I forgot to mention. I actually have more than just the blue lion.”

“What?” the Alph asked, confused.

Derek didn’t know what Stiles did, but Voltron suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere, right in front of Stiles, blaster gun out and aimed at the square they were all in.

All the Alphs froze and Derek and Scott shared another confused look. How the fuck was Voltron there? For one thing, all its Paladins were currently on the ground, and for another, the Alphs had four of the lions on their ship.

This had to be a trick, and apparently, the commander thought so, too, because he laughed and said, “Nice try, little one, but we have four of the lions in our possession.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked from behind Voltron. “Maybe you oughta double-check.”

The commander frowned, but turned to bark at one of his guards to call the ship. The guard did so, and the second the call connected, the first thing they heard were people shouting, “The lions are gone!”

The Alph commander’s head shot back in Stiles’ direction. He was standing between Voltron’s legs, grinning wildly, eyes sparkling mischievously, and he pointed up at the battleship.

“Hey Voltron! Destroy the ship!”

Voltron obediently tilted the blaster gun upwards, aiming at the ship, and fired. Derek turned to watch the shot, and felt like it disappeared into thin air, but sure enough, a few seconds later, there was an explosion on the battleship that started a chain reaction until the entire thing was just exploding and falling to pieces in the sky. Derek hoped it wasn’t too close to the planet’s gravity, or it would fall and crush them all.

“Voltron, attack the soldiers!”

Derek’s head whipped back around and he saw the Alphs dropping their weapons and bolting for their ships. They weren’t retreating, but they likely wanted to fight in their ships as opposed to standing on the ground with laser guns.

The second the guards made a mad dash, Derek remembered something and he shifted as fast as he could, almost dislocating his arms when he got them out from behind his back by sliding his ass and legs through the gap. He scrambled to his feet, ran two steps, and then fell to his knees and grabbed the bolt that was pressed right against Lydia’s forehead from the trap springing. A guard had run into Jackson, just as Derek had expected, and if he’d been even a nanosecond slower, Lydia would’ve died.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, breathing hard, eyes on Derek. “That was stressful.”

Jackson ripped his arms free of his restraints and he got to work pulling the contraption strapped to Lydia’s head off while Derek held onto the bolt tightly, keeping it where it was. He could see a drop of blue blood sliding slowly down Lydia’s forehead from where the point was breaking skin, but it was just a flesh wound, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Stiles appeared beside him, working at Scott’s restrains, looking pale and frightened, but otherwise unharmed.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” he insisted, looking around urgently once Scott was free and then getting to his feet.

Jackson pulled the contraption off Lydia’s head and Derek shifted the bolt away with it. When he let it go, it shot through the air and embedded itself into the side of a building.

“Thank you,” Lydia said again, breathing hard.

Derek opened his mouth to respond but Stiles was slapping at his shoulder urgently, still looking around.

“Come on, hurry up, let’s go!”

“What’s the problem?” Scott demanded. “And who’s in Voltron?”

“Nobody,” Stiles insisted, grabbing Derek’s arm and tugging him to his feet, then dragging him quickly towards the forest. “Nobody is in Voltron, because that’s a hologram, and I don’t wanna die out here!”

“That’s a _what_?!” Jackson demanded.

The five of them raced for the trees, Voltron firing at the Alph ships that had started attacking it. Stiles was leading them into the woods, covering his head with his arms like an idiot, though Derek could understand why he was doing it.

They looped back around to where Voltron was and Stiles hit a button on his gauntlet. A door hissed open a little ways in front of them and Derek realized, quite startled, that it was the shuttle. Stiles clambered onto it and fell into the pilot seat, shutting the doors once they were all on and quickly going through the start-up sequence.

“I don’t understand, some of those shots are hitting the targets though,” Scott insisted, standing on one side of the pilot’s chair while Derek stood on the other, still cuffed and struggling to ignore how painful it was.

“Deaton is controlling the holographic movements of Voltron,” Stiles said, hitting one last button and then shooting upwards out of the trees, the hologram of Voltron rising with them before flickering and disappearing. “Laura’s shooting at things with the castle’s canon.”

Derek realized that made a lot of sense. He’d felt like the shot from Voltron’s blaster gun had just disappeared, but then the ship had been destroyed. Only an extremely powerful weapon could’ve done that much damage, and as impressive as Voltron was, it couldn’t have destroyed a battleship. But the canon on the castle-ship _definitely_  could.

The shuttle shot through the air, Stiles turning it around quickly, and speeding towards space. It was presumably in camouflage mode, but the Alphs now knew they’d been had and ships were shooting at random in their direction. They all jostled when the ship was hit, and the sparks flying from the controls suggested it was likely no longer camouflaged.

“Shit, _shit_!” Stiles hissed, flipping a few more buttons and then twisting the lever around. “This looks _so_ much easier on _Star Trek_!”

“Derek.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Lydia reached forward and carefully removed the cuffs. Derek winced when they came free, taking skin with them, but nodded in thanks when they hit the ground. It would take a few hours for damage of this magnitude to heal, but he would be all right.

He slammed into the side of the ship, grabbing Lydia before she did as well and cushioning her impact since he was much more durable. The ship was falling out of the sky, Stiles cursing and struggling to get it airborne again.

“What is that?” Scott demanded, pointing at the screens.

Derek turned to look at what he was pointing at, Stiles managing to level the shuttle, but not raise it any higher to get them back to the castle. Derek squinted at the screen, and realized what it was a split second before Lydia said,

“It’s the blue lion!”

“What? No!” Stiles insisted. “What’s it doing out here?!”

Derek’s heart began to speed up again. “It knows you’re in danger. It knows you’re in danger and it’s coming to save you.”

“What, really?” Stiles turned to him, looking surprised. “It can do that?”

“It’s very rare, but sometimes, the lions and their Paladins have a strong enough connection that it’s been known to happen.”

The blue lion shot past them, mouth open and blasting at the ships on their tail. Stiles was still working on getting the shuttle in the air when they all jerked and Scott fell over with a shout. They began rising rapidly, and Derek realized the blue lion was beneath the shuttle, pushing it into the air. It was going exceptionally fast, and within seconds, they’d broken through the atmosphere and were hurtling through space towards the castle. It appeared to be unaffected by the battle, but Derek knew if it had used its canons more than five times, it was now out of juice and would need time to recharge.

As long as the shields worked, since he was sure Alphs were hot on their tail.

“Good lion,” Stiles cooed, patting the shuttle’s console as if _it_  were the blue lion. “Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl? You are. Yes you are.”

“Are you okay?” Derek asked slowly. When Stiles turned to him, Derek raised both eyebrows and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You’re _welcome_ , by the way. No need to thank me for saving you all.”

“You almost got Lydia killed,” Jackson snapped.

“He didn’t know, he was just trying to help,” Lydia insisted, then turned to Stiles. “Thank you. How did you do all this?”

“Where are the lions?” Derek demanded, finding that to be the more important question.

“Right there,” Stiles said when they flew into the hangar and the blue lion lowered to the hangar floor, the shuttle sliding off its back and causing them all to fall over except Stiles.

Derek quickly sat back up, using the arm rest of Stiles’ chair to pull himself up faster, and stared out the screens.

All four lions were sitting exactly where they usually were, as if they had never left. The yellow and red lions still looked to be damaged, but the other two looked like they hadn’t moved in days, and he turned to Stiles incredulously.

Stiles grinned at him. “See how awesome I am when I get a full night’s sleep?”

_“Touching as this is,”_ Laura’s voice said over the speakers in the shuttle, _“we are currently under attack!”_

Derek turned to exit the shuttle, following behind Jackson who was the first out. Lydia was storming behind them, muttering angrily about showing the Alphs who was boss for potentially scarring her face. Derek ran for the black lion, glad he was still in his Paladin armour, and grabbed the lead to rise up to the entrance. As he did so, he felt his chest clench when he saw Stiles racing up the ramp of the blue lion, the ship having crouched so that he could do so since it wasn’t in its usual location.

“Stiles!” he insisted, but the ramp was already closing and he cursed.

When he reached the entrance for the black lion, he hastily got into his seat and started it up, the screens flickering on. He connected it to the other lions, and then said, “Stiles, what do you think you’re doing?”

_“Uh, protecting the ship and Nemet?”_  he asked, powering up on his own end.

“Stiles, it’s too dangerous for you, you need to stay here!”

_“Says the guy whose ass I **literally**  just saved. You’re **welcome** , Derek.”_

“Stiles,” Derek growled angrily.

_“Can you worry about your new boyfriend later?”_  Lydia asked impatiently, the green lion already rising out of its containment and heading for the hangar door. _“We have to get rid of these Alph ships before they call for reinforcements.”_

Derek just growled angrily, but followed behind Scott when the other headed for the hangar door. Stiles was ahead of Scott, and Jackson was behind Derek.

“Everyone stay alert and _be careful_.”

_“Yes dad,”_  Jackson sneered.

The second they were outside, they were being shot at. Derek took evasive manoeuvrers to avoid the shots and Jackson, being in the fastest lion, propelled forward to take out some of the ships. Derek’s eyes kept going to the blue lion every now and then, but Stiles was actually doing pretty well. He got hit three times, and shot in the castle’s direction once, but overall he was doing impressively well.

They’d almost disposed of all the ships when something flickered on Derek’s right screen and he turned, his blood running cold.

Two battleships had just appeared from deep space, and while the lions could destroy it with some work, it would take time and there were _two_  of them. The castle-ship was still recharging from the last blasts, so it wasn’t going to be any use.

“Guys, we have to form Voltron,” he said immediately, turning the lion around to get into formation. It wasn’t until he was already flying at max speed through the air with Lydia and Scott on his left and Jackson on his right that he remembered they’d never formed Voltron with Stiles before.

When he was about to say something about scattering, Stiles appeared beside Jackson and Derek froze when the lions took over, his centre of gravity shifting as the head of his lion rose upwards to form the head of Voltron.

_“Holy shit,”_ Scott said on his screen. _“Holy shit, we’re actually forming Voltron...”_

_“Isn’t that a good thing? I thought this was what we wanted,”_  Stiles insisted as Derek felt the lions connecting. _“Also, am I a leg? That’s fucking dope, I’m a leg. Can I kick people independently of Scott or will I make us fall over if we're on the ground?”_

_“You’ll make us fall over, don’t be an idiot,”_  Lydia snapped.

“Guys,” Derek said, trying to stay calm and not completely freak out over the fact that _they’d fucking formed Voltron with Stiles_. “Focus on destroying the battleships. We can celebrate later.”

Derek could hear Scott giving Stiles cliffnotes on what he was supposed to do, and Voltron’s sword was pulled from its sheath, courtesy of Jackson.

Then the robot charged forward.

* * *

Stiles fell onto his bed with a groan, aching all over and ready to sleep for a year. He was freshly showered and smelling of pine and all he wanted to do was pass out. It had been a long, stressful night and was well past five in the morning by now. His only consolation was that he’d slept until six in the evening the previous day, so at least he was consistent with his sleep schedule, at this point.

He had just started drifting off to sleep on top of the covers when there was a knock at his door and he whined. He debated just pretending to be dead so whoever it was would leave him alone, but he eventually sighed and stood, stumbling sleepily to the door and having it hiss open at his approach.

Derek was standing on the other side, and of _course_  it was Derek, because he probably had a page of things Stiles had done wrong, including firing on the ship once during the battle because Stiles had gotten distracted trying to keep an eye on Scott in his damaged lion and aimed incorrectly.

The alien gave him a slow once over and scowled, as if unhappy with what he saw. Stiles looked down at himself, wearing his usual loose shirt and pyjama bottoms. He had bruises all along his arms and most of his covered torso, and he glanced back up at Derek when the other reached forward to press light fingers to his throat.

That one had been a bit of a shock when he’d looked in the mirror, but he supposed it made sense. The Alph guard on the battleship had almost crushed his throat, so it made sense it had bruised. He knew he’d had it when on Nemet, but it probably had just been red and forming as opposed to the ugly purley-green colour it was now.

“What happened?”

“Alph guard tried to kill me when I went to steal back the lions,” Stiles said with a shrug. “No big deal. I beat him to death with my bat.” Stiles grinned. “Did you know Alphs have balls?”

“Of course they do.” Derek gave him a weird look.

“What?” Stiles demanded, flailing his arms and forcing Derek to lower his own. “You’re all _aliens_! Can you blame me for being surprised we have similar anatomy?” He frowned and eyed Derek briefly. “Do _you_  have balls?”

Derek covered his crotch and glared at Stiles. “Yes, and if you kick me in them, you’ll lose yours.”

“Dude, do you have like, a dick, too?”

“This was not the conversation I was expecting to have with you when I knocked on your door.”

“Oh, come on! Tell me! Does that mean Lydia has a vagina? What does Jackson have? I mean, he’s got a _tail_  so is he, like, reptilian downstairs too, or what?”

“Good night Stiles,” Derek said, turning on his heel and starting to walk off.

“Wait, wait, no!” Stiles grabbed at his arm and pulled him back. He knew he only succeeded because Derek let him. “Sorry, sorry. I guess I just wasn’t really thinking about things like that until the life was being choked out of me and desperate times, you know?” Stiles laughed and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. “What’s up?”

Derek motioned into the room and Stiles backed up to let him enter. The door hissed shut behind him and Stiles went to sit on his bed, bringing his feet up under him.

“What’s up?” His face fell. “You’re not here to lecture me on my poor performance, are you? It was my first time being a leg, okay, I did the best I could!”

“You performed adequately given the circumstances,” Derek admitted.

“Oh wow, praise. Did it hurt a little?” Stiles grinned and Derek rolled his eyes.

“I just wanted to come by and make sure you were doing okay. You can sleep in today, we’re going to take a break with your training.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, but inside he was screaming with joy. He was tired of training, and while it was only one day, it was still huge. He could brush up on his Lycan, and his Bansh. He didn’t know why, but he felt like it was important for him to learn the two languages. Maybe just so he could prove to himself later that this had really happened and wasn’t all a hallucination.

“Cool,” he finally said when it looked like Derek was waiting for him to say something. “Thanks.”

Derek nodded, and turned to leave when he paused and looked back at Stiles, frowning. “How did you do it?”

Stiles blinked. “Do what, get the lions out? Well, I killed that guard, like I said, and I—”

“No,” Derek interrupted. “Form Voltron. How did you do it?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles frowned. How was he supposed to know? Wasn’t that what this whole training thing was about? Forming Voltron? Sure he hadn’t trained much in the lion, but he’d kind of figured out his place in the formation when he saw the other four, it wasn’t rocket science.

“Voltron only forms when all members of the team trust each other, and share a connection.” Derek frowned. “I know that the others and I trusted you, because you got our lions out, and you saved us on Nemet. I know you and Lydia are connected because of your intellect, you and Scott are friends, and you and Jackson have a weird relationship where he grudgingly respects you and you him. But when did you start trusting _us_? And when did you and I connect?” he motioned between them. “I thought you were scared of me.”

Stiles blinked at Derek, wondering what he was talking about before remembering the fact that he’d jerked away from him in fear the day before. He hadn’t gotten around to explaining that to him and he could see that the fact that Stiles was supposedly scared of him kind of upset Derek.

He smiled and shook his head. “Derek, I’m not scared of you. I was heavily sleep-deprived yesterday, and when you came at me, my brain kind of panicked and I freaked out. I would’ve recoiled from a fucking _puppy_ , with how tired I was.” He grinned. “Sorry big guy, but you’re not _that_  scary.”

Derek scowled at him, crossing his arms, but the tenseness of his muscles relaxed a little. Obviously Stiles’ supposed fear of him had been bugging him a lot, so Stiles was glad he could lay that theory to bed.

“And you guys have been really cool with me.” Stiles shrugged, gripping his ankles when he crossed his legs under him. “I mean, I think I’ve trusted all of you ever since my second day here when none of you ate me or anal probed me.”

Derek snorted and Stiles grinned at him.

“I guess despite how little time I’ve been here, I don’t know, I spend _all_  my time with you guys, you the most. Trust just kind of felt natural for me.” He smiled. “And you and I are totally connected, what are you talking about? You’ve been training me, and teaching me, and helping me. Even when I got into the lion yesterday—” Stiles cut off and frowned. “This morning? Whatever, when I got in the lion, you wanted me to stay behind because you thought I wasn’t ready. I like to think you were worried I’d get hurt, and that felt kinda nice.”

“I was more worried about the castle,” Derek muttered, turning his face away, and Stiles had to grin at the fact that even aliens could blush. Derek had _totally_  been worried about him, that was fucking _adorable_.

Stiles had major game with aliens, apparently. Who knew all he had to do for someone to like him was find himself an alien?

“What are you doing with your day off?” Stiles asked to change the subject. “You won’t have to train me, so hopefully something fun.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You could help me with my Lycan,” Stiles offered cautiously. “I’m still having trouble with some words.”

“I think your Lycan isn’t bad,” Derek admitted, smiling slightly. “Better than Jackson’s. He stopped learning it almost right away because it was too hard for him.”

“I think Jackson just sucks at languages in general, his Bansh is atrocious.” Stiles laughed. “I’m not even a Banshee and even _I_ can tell his Bansh is atrocious.”

Derek chuckled and nodded. “Sure. I can help you out, if you want.”

“Cool.” Stiles grinned.

“Good night, Stiles.”

“Night!” he said, Derek turning and exiting the room.

Just before the door had fully closed, Stiles heard Derek say, very quietly,

“Thank you for saving us today.”

Stiles fell sideways on his bed and buried his face in his pillow, grinning like an idiot.

* * *

Despite the fact that the final battle was fast approaching, Derek tried to give Stiles time off at least once every three days. After their first time forming Voltron, they’d all practised it with Stiles a few more times, and even took him out on real missions to liberate planets and disrupt trade routes for the Alphs.

Stiles was a quick study, and when he got his eight hours of sleep, he was a monster. Nobody was concerned about things going poorly anymore since Boyd’s death, but Stiles still insisted they continue training, so Derek obliged.

Sometimes they trained indoors, with Stiles swinging his bat around like an idiot, and other times they trained outside, either with target practice, flight manoeuvrers or actually forming Voltron and fighting drones with the others.

Whenever Stiles had a day off, he would study Lycan or Bansh with either Derek, Laura, Scott or Lydia. Jackson would come around and hang out whenever Stiles and Lydia were together, but otherwise he tended to be elsewhere.

Derek tended to stick around regardless of the language and who Stiles was with on any given day. He liked spending time with him, and it was interesting hearing Stiles talk about his planet. It sounded a lot like Lycandor sometimes, and Derek thought he might not hate to visit it.

He ignored the very pointed looks Laura kept sending him whenever she was around while he was with Stiles. He didn’t know why she was trying to set him up for failure. Stiles had never shown any interest in him, and as much as Derek liked him, Stiles was going back to his own planet when this was all over. Derek was going to find an isolated ice planet on the edge of the universe and die there, alone and miserable, like he deserved.

“So what is everyone going to do after the war is over?” Stiles asked one night at dinner, four days before the final battle was scheduled to take place.

“Most of us are going back to Bansh,” Laura informed him, since Stiles already knew about the destruction of Lycandor.

Derek had admitted it was his doing, and he and Stiles had gotten into a heated argument about whether or not it was actually his fault. Stiles had insisted it wasn’t, and while Derek didn’t believe him, it felt nice to have the other defending him like that.

“I’m going to see Allison,” Scott said, voice soft and a ridiculously lovey-dovey expression on his face. “We’re going to get a place together,” he said excitedly to Stiles.

“That’s great, man.” Stiles slapped his shoulder.

“Obviously Bansh is my home, so that’s where I’m going.” Lydia flipped some hair over her shoulder. “I suppose Jackson can come if he wants.”

Jackson smirked before taking a bite of his food, and Derek was positive Jackson was going to go whether he was invited or not.

“What about you, Deaton?” Stiles asked, slurping up some of the nutritional goo on his plate.

“I’ve not decided, to be honest,” Deaton said carefully. “I suppose it depends on where Derek goes.”

“Really?” Stiles leaned forward to see Derek past Scott. “Where are you thinking of going, Derek?”

He looked up to scowl angrily at Deaton, but the advisor merely stared back, waiting on an answer. Derek put his utensil down, and realized he couldn’t give Stiles an honest answer. If he did, it would start another fight, and he didn’t want that.

“Might go to Bansh,” he muttered, just for something to say.

“That’ll be nice,” Stiles said, but Derek heard a hint of sadness in his tone. “I guess all of you are just going to head there then, huh? Makes sense.”

“I’d like to visit Earth, though,” Laura said quickly. “You make it sound lovely, and it reminds me a bit of Lycandor.”

“And you’ll keep in touch, of course,” Lydia snapped, scowling at Stiles. “We didn’t spend two months putting up with you for you to just forget about us.”

Stiles laughed. “I don’t think cell phone service reaches Bansh.”

“What is a cell phone?” Scott asked, frowning.

“And you’d be using your lion, silly,” Laura said, taking a bite of her food.

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “Wait, I get to _keep_  it?”

“Of course. The lion chooses the Paladin. It would be no use to the rest of us to keep it. And this way, you can visit us on Bansh whenever you like.”

“And Derek can visit you on Earth,” Scott said, grinning at him. “Because he said he wanted to when we last sp—”

Derek elbowed Scott a _little_  too hard, he was sure, but the way he doubled over and hacked was satisfying after the words he’d just let slip.

Stiles’ eyes shifted from Scott to Derek, but the Lycan resolutely looked at his plate and continued to eat.

He didn’t know why everyone was pushing him at Stiles as if hoping hard enough would get the Earthling to want him to go to Earth with him. Derek didn’t _like_  Bansh. It was boring and hot and he’d be stuck around Jackson and Lydia, and Scott and Allison, and his sister who’d started getting close to the prince of Bansh—which was _hilarious_  given she was currently Queen of Lycandor, and how ironic if she ended up marrying into the Bansh royal family.

He didn’t want to be around all those couples, and he didn’t want Deaton following him to the edges of the universe, either. He just wanted to be left alone to his misery to die in peace.

That was the last happy-go-lucky dinner they had, because the next few were tense, everyone nervous about the upcoming battle. Laura didn’t even come to dinner at all two days before the battle, too busy ensuring the rest of the coalition was prepared to do their part, and the day before the battle, no one really ate.

Derek felt tense and antsy, and he went to train in the simulation room for a few hours that day. He kept getting distracted, because all he could think about was two things: what if they all died, and what if they all didn’t?

If they all died, or even just a few of them died, Derek didn’t know if he would be able to handle that. Boyd had been hard enough, and it had taken him a long time to come to terms with the fact that he had died, but he didn’t know what he would do if he lost Scott, or worse, _Stiles_. If Stiles died, Derek hoped that someone took him out first so he wouldn’t have to be alive to experience Stiles’ death. He didn’t think he could handle that.

And worse, if they all died, the universe’s last hope died with them. Once the Paladins all died, the lions could be taken by the Alphs and used for their purposes. The universe would be overrun by Alphs and that would be the end of everything.

But if they didn’t die. If they won, if they solved everything, freed everyone...

Then Stiles would go home. Stiles would return to Earth, and Derek would probably never see him again. It wasn’t like he could just _visit_ , that was fucking _crazy_. Yes, he’d said he wanted to to Scott, but that didn’t mean he _could_. What reason could he possibly give aside from the truth? Stiles would never believe him if he said he just wanted to come by and check out the scenery.

Derek was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost got sliced open by a sword, but a large blue bat appeared to block the hit and Derek turned to Stiles, startled.

“Focus, Derek,” Stiles teased, then called for the simulation to end. The robot went still and Stiles allowed his Bayard to return to normal, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Derek asked.

“Can’t sleep. Too hyped up.” Stiles held out both hands, and Derek saw they were shaking. “I’m terrified of tomorrow,” he admitted quietly. “I’m worried I’ll screw up, and people will die, and everything will fall to shit.”

“You won’t,” Derek promised, his Bayard also returning to normal. He shoved it into the back of his pants and moved forward, putting both hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “You’ve been doing so well these past few weeks that it’s amazing you haven’t been with us for two years. I can see why the blue lion chose you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly, hugging himself. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” Derek said instantly.

“If something happens tomorrow... I mean, if I _die_...” Stiles licked his lips and Derek struggled to ignore the panic at those words. “Can you make sure my body gets back to my dad? I just... I don’t want him to never know. I don’t want him to think I just disappeared and spend the rest of his life wondering. Please just get me back to him and tell him what happened.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Derek insisted, hating how scared he felt that something _would_. “When I meet your dad, it’ll be when you introduce me to him.”

Stiles managed a smile. “Coming to Earth, then?”

“I hear they have good food down there,” Derek said with his own smile.

Stiles laughed, shaking his head, but he still hugged himself and Derek didn’t drop his hands from his shoulders. Derek had heard a lot about Stiles’ dad this past month while he’d been learning Lycan. Stiles seemed to be doing better with learning the language when he was forced to speak it, so they’d been having discussions together to get his Lycan more polished. It made Derek sad to know that it would be a dead language once he, Laura, Melissa, Scott and Deaton passed. Maybe if Scott had a child he would pass the language along, but Lycandor would be all but a memory soon, and eventually, it would cease to exist.

At least Voltron would always be there, and maybe with it Lycandor, if people remembered the Paladins who’d freed the universe of the Alphs.

It was weird that they’d have to be careful about Stiles. He was from Earth, a part of space that no one ventured to because the Earthlings weren’t ready to know about what really happened out in the universe. Once word got out that the blue Paladin had been from Earth, interest would rise in the planet and Derek was sure more alien sightings would occur. That could be dangerous, both for the rest of the universe _and_  Earth itself.

Maybe they would lie and say Stiles was from Bansh, but that was a conversation for after they’d won.

“Hey Derek?”

He focussed back on Stiles, standing exceptionally close to him since he was still gripping his shoulders. “Yes?”

“Can I do something before I lose my nerve?”

Derek frowned. “Sure?”

Stiles stared at him, and Derek was about to ask what he was supposed to be doing, but then Stiles leaned up on his toes and almost headbutted Derek, crushing his lips against his. The kiss lasted less than a second, Stiles pulling away and then turning on his heel, calling good night while rushing for the exit.

Derek took two steps after him, grabbed his arm, and wrenched him back. He brought his free hand up and cradled Stiles’ face while crushing their lips together once more. His brain was screaming, throwing a party somewhere in the back of his mind, but the front of his mind was focussed solely on Stiles.

His taste, how his skin felt beneath his palm, the way his hands were curled in the front of Derek’s shirt. He kissed Stiles like the world was going to end tomorrow, and he wanted this one thing, just _one_  thing, and everything would be all right.

He had to pull away when he felt his fangs drop, breathing hard with his forehead against Stiles’, his Lycan side coming out more prominently. Stiles just laughed slightly and tugged at Derek’s left chop playfully.

“You kind of look like a Werewolf.”

“What’s a Werewolf?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Stiles promised, and he went to kiss Derek again. He didn’t seem to care that Derek didn’t look as human as normal, and that kind of made Derek love him even more.

That was when Derek realized he _loved_  Stiles. He honestly, truly loved this Earthling, and the possibility of losing him tomorrow terrified him.

“I want to go to Earth,” Derek said when they parted for air a few seconds later, brushing his lips along Stiles’ jaw and being sure to keep his teeth away from his skin. “I want to go with you.”

“God, yes,” Stiles breathed, hands buried in Derek’s hair now and throat laid bare. “Come back with me. We can visit Laura whenever you want, just _stay_  with me.”

“Always,” Derek promised, holding him tightly and kissing at his throat.

If Stiles died tomorrow, Derek would die, too.

* * *

Things went wrong almost immediately. Voltron and the coalition made it to the Alph homeworld and began the assault, but the Alphs were ready for them. Half the coalition went down in the first ten minutes, the castle’s canon malfunctioned and stopped working twelve minutes in, most of the coalition included civilians who didn’t know how to fight and kept getting in the way, and Jackson’s lion was damaged and couldn’t form Voltron thus needing to retreat for some repairs.

All in all, a clusterfuck disaster. Stiles was pretty sure he was going to die and he really, really, _really_  didn’t want to die.

But he persevered and kept fighting. He did his best to keep fighters away from the larger ships so they could keep attacking, he helped protect the smaller ships of civilians who were there just to help but were kind of causing more problems, and he kept an eye on Derek’s lion.

He knew he had nothing to worry about with Derek, he’d been fighting for so many years he could probably do this in his sleep, but Stiles _was_  worried. All he kept thinking about was how Derek had admitted he wanted to go to Earth, and now Stiles was terrified something would happen and Derek wouldn’t make it there.

He _wanted_  Derek to get to Earth. He wanted him to see it, to enjoy it, to talk about whether it really _was_  like Lycandor. He wanted Derek to be happy, to enjoy the rest of his life.

He wanted Derek to be with him. He’d spent weeks hiding his feelings, trying to ignore them, push them back, and then to kiss him and run away, only for Derek to pull him back... God, Stiles would do anything for them all to get out of this in one piece.

Jackson came back out an hour after having gone for repairs. He seemed pissed and ready for action, but now that the red lion was back, the Alphs seemed determined to keep the lions apart so they wouldn’t form Voltron.

Stiles grunted when his lion was hit, rocking in his seat, shoulder burning from the repeated hits it had taken against the side of his chair. He growled angrily, tired of this shit, and aimed the tail canon to take out the more annoying fighter. It kept moving towards allies, forcing Stiles to pull back, and it was starting to piss him off.

_“What’s that?”_ Scott demanded.

Stiles turned his lion, trying to see what the other was referencing, but before he’d even managed it, something invisible slammed into his lion and all the power went off.

“Oh shit. Oh _shit_ , no! No, no!” Stiles tugged on the lever and began knocking stupidly on the main control panel. “No, don’t do this, oh shit, please!”

For ten very tense seconds, the lion was dark and unresponsive, Stiles’ breathing ragged at the knowledge that he could see _nothing_  outside given the screens were dark. But, thankfully, it booted back up and he sighed in relief. Then screamed because a fighter was careening right for him. He jerked his right lever to the side, ducked the lion under the fighter, then turned and blasted it with its ice ray. He only realized after he’d done so that the ship hadn’t been lit up, meaning it had just been heading for him due to inertia.

Stiles didn’t get how inertia worked in space, but now wasn’t the time for science.

He heard someone shout something on his screen and turned to look, relieved at seeing Derek back on the screen, along with the others. His face had morphed into his more Lycan side, eyes bright blue and hair along the sides of his face, but Stiles just grinned.

“It’s all good, big guy. I’m fine.”

Derek’s head snapped back, and when he spoke again, it was extremely quickly.

And not in English.

Stiles’ eyes shot to Lydia when she began screeching, and it took Stiles a few seconds to realize she was speaking in Bansh. Derek was speaking in Lycan, he and Scott having a yelled conversation, panic mounting in the tones of their voices.

Blinking, Stiles looked down at his gauntlet and realized it was off. Whatever they’d been hit with had fried everything. When he looked outside, he saw all the ships—Alphs or otherwise—floating aimlessly in space. It looked like only the lions were operational, but anything else unrelated—including the gauntlets—were fried.

Which meant they didn’t have translators and half of the team couldn’t understand each other.

And more enemies were coming at them from the ground.

“Shut up!” Stiles screamed when the others all continued to shout at each other. They instantly went silent, probably more from his tone than understanding his words, but he could see the stress on all their faces.

He’d known. He didn’t know _how_  he’d known, but he’d somehow sensed this would happen. Stiles had been positive that something would happen where they wouldn’t be able to communicate.

Why else would he have learned Lycan and Bansh?

_“How much Lycan do you know?”_ he asked Lydia in very choppy but understandable Bansh.

She straightened instantly, looking determined. _“Not much, but your Bansh is good enough for me.”_  He could tell she was using smaller words, and he appreciated it. This was going to be hard, but not impossible.

_“How much Bansh does_ Jackson _know?”_

Lydia frowned and he realized she didn’t know who or what Jackson was since that particular word was in English.

_“Red is_ Jackson _. Green is_ Lydia _. Yellow is_ Scott _. Black is_ Derek _,”_  he told her in Bansh, the names coming out in English, just for reference.

He thought he might have gotten one of the colours wrong, because she frowned for a second, but then she nodded quickly, understanding.

_“Red’s Bansh is not good, but I am fluent in—”_  Stiles didn’t understand her last word, but figured she meant Kanim so he nodded and focussed on Derek and Scott on his screen.

_“This will be difficult,”_  he said in _much_  better Lycan than he had been speaking Bansh, _“but not impossible. We can still communicate.”_

Derek sighed in relief and Scott looked skyward in thanks. When Derek spoke, he was speaking a mile a minute and Stiles held out one hand, eyes on the approaching fighters. They were getting closer.

_“I am still learning! Slower!”_

Derek looked frustrated, but moreso at the situation than Stiles.

_“We should retreat,”_  he said again, slower. _“They outnumber us and we’ve lost all support.”_

_“We can’t retreat,”_  Scott insisted, voice incredulous and coming through in his words. _“All these people will die if we leave!”_

_“We can’t communicate!”_  Derek snapped in Lycan. _“We can’t form Voltron, it won’t work!”_

_“It will,”_  Stiles insisted. _“We have to trust each other. Red and green can communicate. I can communicate with green and you two. You can communicate with each other. We can do this.”_

Derek didn’t look convinced, but Stiles quickly ducked out of range of the oncoming fighters and sped towards Lydia. They didn’t have time to argue, because Scott was right. If they left this battle right now, countless of people would die, and they couldn’t have that. They’d come out trusting the might of Voltron, and Stiles wasn’t going to let them down.

He could tell Derek wasn’t happy, but he ordered them to form Voltron. Stiles didn’t even translate, because the other two who didn’t know Lycan figured he meant that given the formation Scott and Stiles were moving into.

Lydia and Jackson took their places and Stiles’ heart slammed against his ribs while he felt his lion shifting and attaching to the black lion, the human jerking in his seat when the connection caught.

This was insane. Utterly insane. There was _no way_ this would work, but...

Stiles looked out at the sea of motionless ships and tightened his grip on his controls. They had to protect these people, and they had to get rid of the Alphs once and for all. It was their only chance.

_“What is that?”_  Scott asked slowly in Lycan.

Stiles looked out his screen and felt his heart sink. There was something coming their way, but it looked very similar to Voltron, and had a sword drawn.

_“Sword,”_  Derek said, eyes wide. _“Sword, sword, sword!”_

_“Sword!”_  Stiles shouted in Bansh.

Thankfully Jackson either understood without Lydia translating, or he figured it out for himself because Voltron’s sword came out and Derek managed to block the attack when the other machine swung.

A laugh echoed in their speakers, sending a chill down Stiles’ spine, and then a guttural voice began to speak. Stiles didn’t understand this, but Scott and Derek seemed to because Derek growled back a response angrily.

Stiles assumed it was Alphan, and based on the anger and hatred on Derek’s face, he suspected the person speaking was the king of Alph, Deucalion.

It was difficult fighting like this, with Stiles having to translate what Derek was saying so he understood, and then thinking on the Bansh words so he could relay it to Lydia. The easier ones were when Derek spoke to him and Scott, because they could react faster. Thankfully they were the legs so they had the ability to move out of range faster than if Stiles had been forced to translate.

He could hear a weird hissing sound coming from his screens and realized it was Jackson speaking to Lydia. He looked pissed as all holy hell, but his eyes were locked on his main screen, suggesting he was pissed about the other robot.

_“Red has an idea,”_ Lydia said loudly in Bansh, startling Stiles since he’d been focussed on listening to Derek bark orders.

_“Okay?”_  Stiles asked in Lycan, then realized his mistake and repeated it in Bansh. He was getting a headache.

Lydia told him the idea and he relayed it to Derek, all of them jerking in their seats when they were hit. Derek snapped that it was a bad idea, but Scott argued with him and Stiles piped in after a few seconds, and he finally growled his agreement, but insisted they were all going to die.

_“Okay, when I scream_ now _,”_  Stiles said in Lycan, ensuring “now” was in English, _“we split.”_

Scott and Derek nodded. He relayed the same message in Bansh, and waited for Lydia to confirm this in Kanim with Jackson. When everyone nodded, Stiles let out a slow breath, then nodded at Scott.

The two of them flipped Voltron around and when charged at the enemy full speed. It raised its sword, and just as it began to swing downward, Stiles shouted, “Now!”

They all disconnected their lions from Voltron, shifting back quickly into their own individual ships, and evading the strike. Stiles already felt his lion shifting back and connecting to the black lion seconds after he’d gotten around the enemy and by the time Deucalion’s machine had turned, Derek already had the blaster gun out and fired at close range.

Deucalion’s machine exploded in a shockwave of metal and fluid, the pieces floating through space for barely a second before the entire thing _actually_  exploded. With the fire and the heat and everything.

Jackson let out a loud hiss that Stiles interpreted as a cheer of victory and Lydia began to laugh. Scott looked like he was having a heart attack and Derek just stared incredulously at his screen.

“Yeah!” Stiles thrust both hands in the air. “Take _that_ , dickwad! That’s how we do it on Earth!” He laughed and then let out a shout and jerked one of Voltron’s legs out of the way when a fighter sped at his lion, zooming right under him from the position Stiles had taken. “Right, okay, war’s not over.”

Despite the fact that they still couldn’t speak properly, and all the other ships were offline, they’d taken down the king. Everyone else was peanuts, and though Stiles knew this was far from over, at least one way or another, this would end _today_.

* * *

Stiles stared down at Lydia while she used an unknown tool on his gauntlet, face pinched with concentration before something sparked and it lit back up. She smiled, pleased with herself, and then snapped the small control panel shut, Stiles hitting a few buttons on it and grinning when it confirmed his translator was back online.

“Thank God,” he said, looking up at Lydia.

“Thank God for you,” she said, nudging him lightly with one hand on his shoulder. He wondered what _her_  version of the word ‘God’ was. “If you hadn’t spent all that time learning Lycan and Bansh, this never would’ve worked.”

“I’m awesome, I know.” He grinned and she rolled her eyes. He was the last one to get his gauntlet fixed, mostly because he understood everyone, but also because the second _one_  gauntlet was fixed, they could all understand one another again. There was a slight delay in the translations with only one working gauntlet, since it had to translate into English, Bansh _and_  Kanim, but once two gauntlets were back online, everything returned to normal and Lydia just went about fixing the rest of them.

The castle was still floating aimlessly in space, Deaton attempting to fix the damage and awaiting Lydia’s assistance, but the backup power was working so they had lights, oxygen, heat and the doors opened and shut as normal.

And even better, they’d _won_.

They’d actually _won_!

The Paladins had ended their fight by ferrying allies from their ships to the castle. It was large enough to accommodate everyone, and most of the ships outside were likely damaged beyond repair. It had taken them _hours_  to ensure they had everyone, and Scott had even been kind enough to argue that they bring the Alph ships back to their own planet.

Derek had argued this heavily, but Laura had snapped at him to get back out there and show some Lycan sympathy so they’d gone back out to bring all the Alph ships to the surface, along with all the empty ally ships _just_  to be sure they hadn’t missed anyone.

The Alph Empire was no more, and while Derek wanted to blast the planet to shit for what it had done, Laura insisted that wasn’t the way they did things, and she very graciously accepted a meeting with the appointed negotiator for the Alphs. They scheduled a meeting for the following morning so everyone could rest, grieve and treat the wounded, and then both sides went silent.

Now that Stiles’ gauntlet was working again, he headed out of the bridge and towards his room, wanting to sleep. It was weird having so many people in the corridors, and they all greeted him warmly and excitedly when he passed, gripping his wrists, patting him on the back, crushing him in hugs.

When he was almost at the locked corridor that lead to the Paladin rooms—Laura had wanted to ensure safety for her Paladins—one of the aliens stopped him and asked, “So where are you from, blue Paladin?”

Before Stiles could answer, a gruff voice spoke behind him.

“Bansh. He’s from Bansh.” A hand pressed against his lower back, pushing him forward. “Excuse us.”

Stiles stepped through the locked door first, and turned to frown at Derek when the door closed behind them, cutting out the noise on the other side and leaving them both alone in the corridor for the Paladin’s rooms.

“Why did you say I was from Bansh?” he asked, a little put out. He’d kind of wanted people to know he was from Earth.

“If we tell them you’re from Earth, they’ll assume your planet is now aware of the overall vastness of the universe and will attempt to visit.” Derek’s eyebrows rose for emphasis. “Can you imagine people from Kanim appearing on Earth to visit?”

Stiles shuddered. “Lizardmen. Ew. No.”

“Exactly. Best they think you’re from Bansh and we leave it at that.”

Stiles nodded sadly, letting out a sigh, and turned to head for his room. The door hissed open and he stepped through, but when he turned, he frowned and poked his head back out of his room. Derek was still standing in the corridor by the locked door.

“Are you coming? I need sleep, and I feel like you’d be a good cuddler.”

Derek’s expression softened slightly and he stepped forward, moving down the hall and into Stiles’ room, the door hissing shut behind him.

“I’m not lying here for eight hours with you,” he informed him.

“Asshole,” Stiles grinned, but he just tugged his shirt up over his head and tossed it into a corner before kicking his armoured shoes off and yanking his Paladin armour off. He kept the loose underpants on and headed for the bed, falling down onto it and groaning.

He heard Derek shifting behind him, armour being set down more carefully, and then a warm body slid in behind him, Derek’s arms going around his waist and pulling his closer, nose buried against the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles smiled and covered Derek’s arms around his middle with his hands. “You’re still coming with me, right? To Earth?”

“If you’ll let me,” Derek said quietly.

“I’d drag you there kicking and screaming whether you wanted to go or not,” Stiles informed him.

Derek chuckled, pulling him more tightly against himself, and kissed at his neck. “Go to sleep, Stiles. We have a celebration to throw tomorrow, and then we need to get you back to your father.”

Stiles smiled, settling more comfortably. His father was probably beside himself with worry, but at least Stiles would have a good reason to have been gone. He couldn’t tell the general population, but he could tell his dad, and he’d be bringing an alien home with him, so he’d have no choice but to explain why Derek was so fucking weird.

He laughed to himself at the idea of Derek seeing a flushing toilet for the first time, or eating a burger. It was going to be a hilarious experience.

And maybe Stiles _wasn’t_  going to be known on Earth as anything other than the annoying ADHD kid who couldn’t keep his essays on track, but at least he knew that for a long time, out here, he was going to be known as the blue Paladin, one of five warriors who took down the Alph Empire.

For someone who wasn’t slated for greatness, that seemed pretty fucking great, and was more than good enough for him.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Star Trek (c) Gene Roddenberry
> 
> Totally didn't think I was gonna make this one timing-wise, but woot woot!


End file.
